Keep Your Enemies Closer
by MissPixieWay
Summary: "We've got to stop this Tom, we're enemies." "I know that Sybil, but I also know you keep friends close, and enemies closer."
1. Introduction

I'm very much a Sybil/Branson fanatic (As some of you may know from my previous fics 'It's Time' and 'The Hotel Heiress') and just when I thought I couldn't write anymore, an idea hit me...

Now this idea is...very, very modern. I don't want to give any of the story away, but I know that there is no Sybil/ Branson fic like it, so I thought I would take the risk and try something different to keep us all going till September!

It has a very Romeo and Juliet vibe, though not enough for a crossover! But if you're a sucker for forbidden love and a little crime... Why _hello_ there xD

Anyway,** r**ead,** r**eview, be** s**afe, be **s**een and above all, **stay awesome**.

^^ Miss Pixie Way xx

(Just quick, whatever impression you may get from this story, I am very Pro-Police and law-abiding. I just have a law_less_ imagination)

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WATCH THE 'KEEP YOUR ENEMIES CLOSER' TRAILER HERE www. youtube. com/watch?v=8CX5TqRHkTI&feature=youtu. be

By the wonderful emmabtvs


	2. The Sharpest Lives

_Chapter Song- The Sharpest Lives by My Chemical Romance_

_'Juliet loves the beat and the lust it commands, drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands Romeo.'_

_. . . . . . . . . ._

"Right, we're in the building. Now I swear to God Edith don't let us down like last time."

Even through the pitch black, all consuming darkness, Sybil could see the flash of warning in Mary's eyes. "Jeez Mary, could you not piss off our only contact? I don't really fancy going back to Grantham tonight and telling him we couldn't finish the job because you two were fighting again!"

Tugging the radio from Mary's grasp, Sybil pressed it against her glossed lips and continued on with the plan, "Edith, can you hear me? Great. It's pitch black in here and having to come up the east wall rather than the west one has _really_ messed us up."

"Okay, bear with me. I just got word from Matthew that the back gate is still clear so don't panic." Sybil heared the beeping of Edith's equipment through the radio and waited impatiently in the darkened hallway for their new instructions.

She had committed countless burglary's since joining the Lords and Ladies gang, but the throbbing silence that came with sneaking into an unknown house never failed to unnerve her. So, grasping for anything to close off the pressing, crushing quiet, Sybil turned to a pacing Mary.

"Matthew told me you're coming up to your tenth year, is that right?" She enquired of her sharp eyed companion as she absentmindedly brushed the fifty pence sized, calligraphy LL tattoo on her wrist.

"First of all, keep quiet!" Mary was _always_ very serious about getting a job done right. "Second, yes it's true. I've been in the gang now since I was sixteen."

Feeling agitated by Mary's eyes flickering to and from the crackling radio, Sybil began tugging the laces on her boots, her _favourite_ boots, tighter. "You were sixteen when you joined? How did Grantham find you again?"

"I'm not speaking of secret matters while we're here." Spat Mary, now rubbing her hands together in eagerness to continue with the robbery.

Shaking her head, Sybil spun in a circle to ease her agitation. _Secret_. The amount of times she had heard that word since entering the Lords and Ladies two years ago. Secret this, secret that, secret files, secret people, secret _secrets_! It wasn't that she didn't understand the _need_ for secrecy when you were a criminal, but it didn't help when you were trying to get to know the people you were involved with.

Oh well, she didn't really need to know how Mary joined, she had learned that almost as soon as she herself had been brought in. It was common knowledge among the team that Mary was a waitress when she was discovered. Whilst serving drinks at some plush event, she had caught the eye of the son of one of Grantham's enemies. A Mr. Kemal Pamuk if her memory served correct. Anyway, once Grantham realised what Pamuk's intentions toward the unknown waitress were, he slipped her a cheque for a ridiculous amount in one hand, and a phial of something in another. Well, within half an hour of Pamuk and Mary sauntering off to some room, she was back screaming that her lover had mysteriously died. And as the story stood, Grantham just hadn't been able to pass up the chance to bring someone with so little conscience into the group.

While Sybil always found this story enthralling, it often overshadowed the trail of events that had led her into the gang. It really wasn't anything quite as devious or daring. One night, while aiding a ward in A&E during her nurse training at university, she had been approached by a sharp suited man requesting to be seen privately. And while she had known that this was against the rules, no student was about to turn down the offer of a grand to do it. So, pulling all the strings she could, Sybil had been able to leave the ward to treat the mans bruised, bloodied knuckles. Maybe then she should have realised she was aiding a notorious gang leader, but no, she hadn't. Too intent on getting her job done properly before being discovered, she had barely noticed when the man revealed himself to be Grantham, and his desire that she should leave this chaos and replace it with a far more glamourous lifestyle.

Within a month from that day she had left university and was earning more money than she had ever owned in her life as a member of Lord and Ladies. And while she knew the robberies were bad, the fraud terrible, the drugs wrong and the violence appalling, she could not deny that she suddenly felt empowered and untouchable as a member of the elite group. Two years on felt very much the same, and the money and benefits were certainly better now she was able to do jobs by herself. Though that didn't mean she always got the chance to show her ability, like tonight for example.

Finally, Edith's voice cut through the darkness. "Sybil, Mar-?"

Mary reached the radio before Sybil could comprehend what was going on. "We're here, go on." A pause. "Right, left, then down, down? Right down. So left, down then through the- And that's when we come to where we should have been? Nice. Wow, what do you know Edith, you can be useful."

Realising that she needed to put her serious head on, Sybil decided not to reprimand Mary for her cutting remark at Edith, but patted down her tight trousers to check for her small knife instead. It was a sick thought she knew; but she _despised_ when Grantham didn't feel a job required them to carry their gun.

As she smoothed back her long, wavy pontail, Mary told Edith to tune in Sybil's radio as they would be separating in a moment. And with that, the games began.

"Right Syb. We take this left-" She indicated the archway next to them. "Then we should come to some stairs. Then we have to go through a glass door and we'll find ourselves at the window we were meant to come in though. I'm going to kill Matthew for not finding out about the bloody Rottweil-"

"Mary, don't forget our time limit!"

"Sorry, then when we get to that window we carry on as we had planned. I'll go and sort out the cameras and you get the papers. Okay?"

"Okay." And she was, she _really_ was. Even through the fear of getting caught or the bigger fear of not completing a job for Grantham, Sybil could never deny the buzzing adrenline rush she felt everytime a job got underway.

Both women gave a silent nod and began their quick, but almost silent run along the path Edith had mapped them. They were pleased to find she really _had_ planned a flawless route and they soon found themselves outside the ornate window they had originally aimed to gain entrance through. They did not speak when Mary gestured toward another hallway, but simply gave a thumbs up to one another and just like that, Sybil was alone.

After a few heists back in her early days, Sybil had realised that a job could only be completed properly if the workers felt at their best. So, waiting until she was sure Mary was well away and unable to turn back to screw at her, Sybil reached into her pockets. Her fingers brushed along a blade and a thin rope before she found what she was looking for.

When her lips were re-glossed and checked for precision in a pristine glass door, Sybil gave a smirk and felt a chill of excitement run through her as she slid quietly along the opposite passage. She knew every trick in the book, well _almost_ every trick. She wasn't quite in the league of Mary perhaps, and she didn't have the experience of Isobel or the ruthlessness of Carlisle, but she was good at what she did and she knew it.

True, it had taken her a while to get over the guilt of her actions, her gut twisting and her mind fretful with each raid or kidnap. But she soon found the aches and pains of a once innocent mind gradually melted away when a black Lamborghini rolled up to her brand new Thames view penthouse. What could she say; crime paid, and she was more than willing to work for it. And although she knew she would never admit it, just like her gang mates, but nothing, not the biggest bonus nor the completion of a job, felt better than having Grantham tell you you'd done a good job.

Feeling a sly smile pass her lips, Sybil tugged her silk black gloves a little tighter and wondered how tonight could possibly go wrong.

o o o

"Patrick." An elbow to the ribs. "Patrick."

Opening red, stinging, pale blue eyes, Tom sat bolt upright like a horse from the starting gate. "W-what. Are we- Thomas are you seriously smoking a joint?"

Letting the car window down in order to breath, Tom rubbed his stiff neck, brushing over the typewriter font SS tattoo below his right ear. He couldn't believe Thomas had let him fall asleep while they were on a job. Well, actually, he couldn't believe he'd fallen asleep on a job, he _could_ believe Thomas had let him. Anything to keep in the bosses goodbooks. Tom made a note to self to do a flawless job on this burglary, that way Carson wouldn't listen to a word Thomas might try to say against him.

"Yeh, Pat, I am." Mumbled Thomas through his spliff.

Realising he would have to close the window to keep cover, Tom took one last gulp of cold air and turned to his reluctant partner. "I thought dealers didn't take? And stop calling me Patrick, you're really starting to piss me off."

"It's only weed. And any enough of that, it's go time." Laughed Thomas as he swiped his own window down briefly to rid himself of the roll up. "Sarah just called, thinks she just saw one of the LL's get into the study on the secret camera Anna put out."

"No way." Tom breathed, realising that after two days of non stop surveillance shifts, he was going to be the one getting in on the action, and not in his usual position as getaway driver. No, this was his _chance_.

"Yep. Right newby-"

"Shut up, I've been doing this for two months. And this is my third major job." Tom threw that last comment in just to wind Thomas up, for he knew that when he had joined Satan's Servants five years ago he hadn't been allowed on a major job for half a year.

Thomas's jaw tightened but Tom knew he wouldn't dare start anything when they had Carson to please. "Whatever. Now just listen. I'm gonna drive round and meet Sarah and Anna. Then y-"

His hand eagerly grasping at the Chrysler's door handle, Tom couldn't help but interrupt. "I know alright. I get in through the back, Anna definitely left the key there right? Good. Then I'll run in and grab the papers from the unlucky LL bastard. Okay?"

Thomas seemed on the edge of keeping something silent, but realising that this job had to go without a glitch, spoke. "Don't forget to wait until the LL has the papers though okay? If you burst in too soon and they haven't got them, theres no way in hell they're going to reveal where they're hidden."

"I'm not an idiot Thomas and Carson wouldn't have briefed me to do this if he thought I was." Smirking at this final snipe at his fellow SS member, Tom jumped out the car and ran like hell toward the mansions high walls.

His blood was rushing, his pulse booming through his veins as he artfully pressed a palm to chest high wall and lept like a rush of air over the boundary. Landing on his shoes with a light thump, he began to run along the shadow of the wall, his gloved hands snagging the bricks, mutely crackling. As he came around to the side of the house he was aiming for, he spotted the large glass door and pelted smoothly across the grass. Swiping a hand above the crease of the door, Tom let out an appreciative snicker as his fingers brushed a key; he reminded himself to buy Anna a drink for that, though he was sure John had come up with her estate agent disguise. A pint of lager and a white wine spritzer it was then.

Sliding the door shut behind him, Tom took a moment to analyse the situation. He tried to keep his mind free from thoughts that might ruin his chances to show Carson he really was a needed member of the gang, but even the thought of that sent his head spinning. He may be labelled the new guy of Satan's Servants at the moment, but ever since his final day as a taxi driver, speeding through London as an unknown but clearly wealthy businessman promised him a huge sum of money if they could escape a following car, his life had changed drastically. Before he knew it, the man, Carson, had offered him a way into a life of travel and riches, and Tom would have been a fool to say no. Yeah, he'd seen things he knew were wrong, but when you were being told you were the best getaway driver he'd ever had by a multi-millionaire gang boss, it was difficult not to see a brighter side.

He made a grunt of annoyance at his own wandering thoughts and crouched low to the ground, listening. He knew the occupents of the house, the Turners, were out; not that he would be worried if they were in, no, his worry was not about _them_, it was about the risk of running into an LL member. So, bracing himself before one could appear and most likely shoot him dead, Tom ran the route told to him by Ethel earlier that day.

His hand ran across the small Glock 17 pistol on his belt as he neared the grand study; he had yet to use it and was slightly ashamed to admit he would have liked an excuse to at least threaten someone with it. He knew that would sound awful to an outsider, but the gang life meant power often went to your head.

Standing flat against the wall by the door, Tom steadied himself for the moment the LL would come bolting out with the papers. He didn't have to wait long in the humming silence before a figure crept around the door. But, just as Tom was about to reach, with mounting excitement, for his gun and demand the papers, the clouds covering the evening moon passed over and it's white light streamed in through the house windows, revealling not the LL man he had expected to see. No, what he saw was a beautiful, stunning, obviously startled young woman staring up at him, her eyes catching the moonlight like a silver kaleidoscope.

He wondered for a moment if he had awoken a sleeping resident, but then his discovery pulled out a small knife and Tom felt his shock subside with the sudden understanding of what, of _who_, he stood facing.

"Who the-?"

"-fuck am I? Probably the last person you wanted to meet tonight." He finished for her, his breathing suddenly heavier than before he had seen her. As his eyes became accustomed to the woman's soft features, he found himself giving her a name. "Sybil, isn't it?"

She did not reply, but the cold flash in her panicked, twinkling eyes was answer enough. He only knew her name from the treasured records Satan's Servants held on the members of Lords and Ladies, but he knew it was her as her profile was the only profile to lack a photo. If it _had_ had a photo, Tom wondered if he would have opted to follow her in the past, for the gang of course...

He felt suddenly unnerved as her demeanor changed from shock to complete relaxation, her hip jutting out, her free hand pushing her hair from her face. "Ahh, I'm going to guess you're one of the Servants? Only thing is, I don't know your face and I'm usually very good when it comes to noticing one of _you_. So your name would be?"

He shouldn't say it, he knew he shouldn't . For his two months in the gang Carson had prided on keeping him a secret, letting him go about committing crimes while the LL's could not seem to pinpoint a culprit. So why, now, did he suddenly want to offer his name to one of... to one of _them_? "Tom. I'm Tom." Shit.

"Thats a lovely accent you have Tom. Irish?"

He knew what she was doing and he knew he shouldn't be helping her in gaining information for the opposition, but she had just bitten her lip in curiosity and everything just went wrong. "Yeh, it is. Though I really don't think that matters right now."

"No, no you're right. I think the fact you have a gun and are in want of what I have in my pocket is the most pressing matter at hand." She smirked, glancing down at his pistol.

As her eyes returned to his, Tom felt suddenly, worryingly out of his depth. It was the damnedest thing. If he had come face to face with a huge bloke brandishing a knife he would have had no trouble. But as it was, this woman, Sybil, had completely, utterly thrown him off guard. "I won't have to use it if you just give me the papers."

"Hmm, now you see I _would_ be scared, but I don't think you want to hurt me. Do you Tom?" If she had just stayed still, had just kept eye contact, Tom was sure he would have dissolved to the floor like an idiot at the sound of his name passing her full lips. But she didn't. As she finished her sentance he watched her eyes flicker to the staircase behind him, clearly plotting her escape. It was this realisation that woke Tom up from his numb state of shock and unexplained allurement.

"Actually, you know you're right. I _don't_ want to hurt you. But it doesn't mean I won't if you don't give me those papers." He felt a little stronger and took a step towards her.

Her voice came in a low whisper as she too took a step closer. "I can tell you're new to this Tom." She paused for a moment to allow him to speak, but he felt it was safer he didn't, not now she was so close and he knew anything he would say would simply make him sound an even bigger fool than he felt. "I know you're new because you're forgetting the number one rule of who we are, of what we do. You say you _don't_ want to hurt me? Now I don't know if the Satan's Servants have told you, but me and you Tom, we're enemies, and enemies _do_ want to hurt eachother."

Her stab at his knowledge did not pass lightly and he felt a little anger towards her as he took another step forward. One more from her and they would be close enough to- "Oh no, trust me, I know you're the enemy. Which is why you're going to get the papers out of your pocket before I get the gun out of mine."

She took the step. He could smell a heavy, expensive perfume radiating from her skin. "Well, now we have a problem. Because I'm _not_ going to give you the papers, and you're _not_ going to get out your gun. So Tom, what are we going to do?"

He didn't want to do it, he really, oddly, stupidly didn't want to, but Tom broke the moment between them by pushing her against the wall by the waist, placing a pressured forearm against her throat while his other hand moved to her hand where he grasped her knife. They were both breathing heavily in the shock of his actions as he replied. "We're going- we're going to solve this."

And as quickly as he could, Tom scaled her body with his knife weilding hand, too aware of her womanly shape and angling the knife so as not to catch her. When he felt the crisp lump in her jacket pocket, he pushed against her neck harder with his forearm, trying and failing to ignore her gasp of discomfort and nimbly tore open her zip and pulled out the papers. He was so lost in the glee of knowing he would be able to report to Carson with good news, Tom almost missed Sybil's arm move. But as he quickly tightened his hold on the knife he assumed she was about to lunge for, he was entirely, completely stunned when she reached around the back of his neck instead, her silk covered fingers in his hair, and pulled him down to her.

Moving his arm from her throat into her hair and pushing his lips against her own, absent at first of all thoughts of how wrong this was, Tom began kissing her hungrily. To begin with everything was soft, tentative and gentle, lips touching and parting, coming together again at slightly altered angles. Then his mind spun into overdrive. _Tom_,_ what are you doing? _As though fighting all reason_, _Sybil's grip in Tom's hair tightened and he found himself pushing against her, sliding his tounge into her welcoming mouth. _She's one of them, what the fuck are you thinking?_ She matched his movements, kissing back eagerly, lips grazing, tongues touching. _Stop! Carson will kill you, he will!_ This was when Tom made his mistake. Thinking, believing, hoping she was as lost as he was, Tom dropped the knife from his grasp and tugged at Sybil's hips, tilting his head a little. But he had been wrong to think such a thing. _Try, try to stop_. The moment the knife hit the floor Sybil kneed him in the groin with all the strength he assumed such a small woman could muster.

She grabbed her knife from the rug next to his face where he had fallen. He looked up at her, fury building within him, only to have it fade as he saw her eyes not full of the joy he had expected, but a look of pity. "A bit of advice Tom, don't try to play the game until you've learned the rules."

And with that she was gone. Standing up quickly, but knowing it was useless, Tom took a deep breath and reached for his radio. He felt sick to his stomach as Thomas answered his request. "What, Tom? Have you got them?"

He had to say it, he had to tell them so they might save the mission for him. "No, I- She got away."

"What? You're fucking joking? What happened?" Came Thomas's half furious, half pleased tone.

Pushing the radio against his glossed lips, feeling humiliated and basically mind-fucked, Tom murmured his confession. "I don't know, I honestly don't know."

_Please Review ^^ I would really like to see if there is enough support for me to continue =)_


	3. Save Ourselves

_Chapter Song - Save Ourselves (The Warning) by The Blackout_

_'So this is where it all began, this is where the story ends'_

_. . . . . . . . . ._

"Good morning baby, Mummy has some good news for you! Oh yes she does! Yes, yes, yes she do- Oh hello, I umm, thank you." Accepting her morning delivery of a Starbucks tall skinny cinnamon latte through the metal security gates of her Thames view apartment, Sybil turned back to her Lamborghini, her forehead folded in a cringe. Note to self; if you're going to talk to your car, check theres no chance of someone having you sectioned in the meantime.

Twiddling with a free strand of hair that had fallen from her early morning messy bun, Sybil sipped her coffee with the other. Her eyelids flickered untamed for a moment in the rare, blinding, London summer sun until she unwravelled her finger from her hair and placed it over her deep blue eyes. As they became accustomed to the sudden shade, she took another sugary sip and peered lovingly, _too_ lovingly, at her black ride spread across the warm, concrete drive.

Taking a glance over either shoulder, seeing no life outside the luxury apartments beside her, Sybil edged closer to the car, running a soft hand over its bonnet. "Want to know what Mummy's got for you baby? Do you? _Well_... Grantham told Mummy she did such a good job at work that you can get the Swarovski crystal studded radio you wanted! Isn't Grantham nice baby? Yes- he- is!" She emphasised each of her final words with a kiss to the cars windscreen until she noticed coffee lip marks printed on the glass. Quickly placing her coffee on the floor, of _course_ not on the cars roof, she used her silk nightgown to wipe away the shimmering smudges.

Finally satisfied that her car was in pristine condition, Sybil padded up the winding metal stairs to her apartment and through the large front door, crossed the living room and stepped out onto her balcony. Sipping the final dregs of warm, dark liquid she leant heavily on the metal banister, looking over the Thames. Damn, life was good. Well for _her_ anyway, maybe not for people waking up for a nine to five or weary nightshift workers dragging themselves home or a certain gang member rising to another day of his bosses fury...

Oh, Tom, poor Tom. It had been a week since she had cruelly worked her magic on him and not a day had passed that she hadn't thought of that night. Of the surge of smug power that had run through her as she placed the papers on Granthams desk, of the unseeable but no less obvious respect increase to her position in the gang, of the torn look in Toms eyes as she pulled him closer. Alright, perhaps she _shouldn't_ keep replaying that last part, but then again, making an absolute fool out of one of Satan's Servants wasn't something a member of Lords and Ladies would ever regret.

Before she had more time to debate over the matter of whether Carson had had Tom killed for his mistake, for her success, her gang phone began to ring and she pushed the curious thought aside in the rush to answer. "Sybil speaking."

"Morning. Grantham wants you over at Downton. ASAP."

"He does? Tell him I'll be there by ten, thanks Edith."

o o o

Stepping out onto the busy London street with as much grace as could be gained when climbing out of a low Lamborghini Spyder, Sybil slipped on her sunglasses and ran a palm through her long, curled hair. She smirked to herself as she watched commuters stopping to gaze at her and her baby. Two years on since her introduction to the gang life and being the object of everyones attention just never got old. Sighing to herself, Sybil flicked her wrist over her shoulder, locking the car with the touch of a button and walked the familiar path toward the Downton Casino; the perfect cover for Grantham's wealth.

Ten minutes later and she was sat excited and apprehensive at Grantham's desk. She crossed and uncrossed her legs countless times before she felt she was getting red marks on her knees, so she then began to twine and twist the hands in her lap. She stared about the luxurious office, complete with a huge bookcase she knew held secrets most wouldn't believe and a large cabinet she didn't even need to ponder held more weapons than the police station a few streets down.

Yup, Grantham was certainly your stereotypical gang boss, the money, the connections, the leadership. And as he walked into the room, shrugging his arms in his sharp suit, Sybil could not help this thought running through her mind far more pronounced than usual.

"Good morning Mr. Grantham." She gushed, almost rising out of her seat at the power the man seemed to emanate. She was grateful she didn't however; she always aimed to seem professional and entirely collected in his presence. After all, if she wasn't always at her best, she could be thrown out of the group, or _worse_.

"Good morning Sybil." Came his reply as he sat down behind the desk infront of her, shrugging his arms again, revealling his LL wrist tattoo as he placed his balled hands on the wood. "Can I tempt you with an early drink?"

One of this most important rules in this life; don't, _ever_, drink on the job. "No thank you Mr. Grantham."

"Good girl." He smirked at her and she took a deep breath, hoping he would soon reveal his reason for summoning her. "Now, tell me again, what did you find out about this Tom from Satan's?"

She felt her face slip a little in disappointment. "Oh, well. There isn't much more than I already told Mary. I came out of Turner's office and he was there. He was surprised to see me I think, so I quickly hit him with a few questions. And just like that I found out his name, and I'd already figured he was from Ireland from his accent before he confirmed it. Then when he went for the papers I-"

"So he definitely knew about those?"

"Yes. I don't know how. But I don't think they knew were they were. Tom- " She paused, it wasn't a srict rule, but Lords and Ladies didn't usually name one of the enemy unless it was absolutely necessary and her tongue felt odd shaped around the three letter word. "I mean, the _Servant_, must have been waiting for me to get them."

"I agree."

Her stomach fluttered at this. Not in _that_ sort of way, no, Grantham was very much a businessman and entirely dedicated to his wife Cora, no no, it certainly wasn't that feeling. It was just that it felt amazing to know her and her boss could be on the same wavelength. It was strange, even though she feared this man more than she cared to admit, she could not help but want his protection, his praise, his respect. She continued, "Then when he went for the papers, I quickly kneed him and ran. He didn't even have time to blink."

"And that's all? That's it?"

Sybil didn't miss a beat as she replied that it was, but that didn't stop her stomach clenching for a brief moment. She knew it was wrong to lie to Grantham, but to tell him, to tell _any_ of the Lords and Ladies, that she had kissed one of Satan's Servants to escape wasn't really something she wanted to share. Especially as she- as she had lost herself at his response, even if only for the briefest second. Urgh, she hated to admit that even to herself.

"Well, I _am_ impressed. Which is why I've asked you here." Grantham rose from his desk, his palms behind him as he looked down on his London view through the grand window. "I want you to follow him Sybil. Track him down and follow him. It may seem amateur to someone like you, but you're the only one to have seen him and I'm sure you're capable of finding out who to talk to in order to find him. Follow him, but that's all- for _now_. I don't like that Carson has managed to keep this man a secret and I don't want to go any longer without knowing all we can. Do you understand?"

Rising from her seat, rubbing her calf length pencil skirt into shape around her hips, Sybil walked over to her boss, her face flushed from the use of the phrase 'It may seem amateur to someone like you'. "Perfectly Mr. Grantham. Just one little thing... When you said_ that's all_, I take it that rule doesn't apply to _all_ of them?"

The smile on Granthams face was enough to convince her that her beautiful Lamborghini might soon have tyre rims to match the radio.

o o o

A bust lip. A bruised jaw. A bleeding nose. Tom almost finished off with a kick to the ribs but William smacked a hand to chest. "Cool it Tom, Carson doesn't wasn't him dead."

He touched his own scarred lip, the only difference being that while his was dark and congealed, the man splayed on the floor infront of him had fresh blood leaking from his. But whilst the scum on the floor deserved his, Tom was bloody certain he hadn't deserved his own. Blinded by the familiar fury brought each time he recalled dragging himself to Carson's office to relay the news he had been had over by one of the LL's, by _her_, Tom grit his teeth so hard it hurt.

He crouched down and roughly turned over the bruised man. "Right Jeffery's, have Carson's money to him by tomorrow and you won't _ever_ have to meet me again. Okay? Good man."

Giving the beaten man two hard smacks to the shoulder, Tom stalked off down the orange lit alleyway, swiftly followed by William who upped his pace to fall in beside Tom. "Look Tom, you have to expect Carson to be pisse-"

"Shut up!" Tom threw at a startled William before coming to an abrupt halt and turning to face his companion. "Look I- I'm sorry Will. It's just- Well I messed up. _Big_ time. I know I did. But I _never_ expected Carson to have me back to beating the shit out of druggies and getting the goods from the dealers again. I'd already done two big jobs as the getaway driver before last weeks fuck up and I just thought-" He looked at an attentive William. It was difficult in this life to know who to trust, but within Satan's Servants Tom would probably say it was young Will who was his closest friend, if you could call it that. With this in mind, he continued. "I just thought I meant more. I thought Carson would put me to the test again. I never thought he'd have me back on the streets like this."

Breathing heavily from his outburst, Tom listened to a nervous William. "You're not the first one to have screwed up mate. And besides, it's not like we don't get a decent bit doing this."

Nodding his head half-heartedly, Tom considered this point. Yes, they were still getting a good wage keeping the streets in check, but it wasn't about the little money to Tom. No, it was about being the best, about showing Carson he had what it took to be one of them, to be one of the big men, to get the bigger money and live out his dreams. He had been so close, _so close_, to getting the new car, the huge apartment, the _glory_, and he'd thrown it all away, and for what? A kiss with some girl, one of the enemy, with Sybil? "You're right, I've just gotta start from the beginning I guess. If I keep at this, keep Carson sweet, maybe he'll have me put on a proper job again."

William seemed pleased with this reply. "That's right. And anyway, like you said, this girl just came out of no where didn't she? Got you straight away? What were you supposed to have done?"

Ruffling his hair, not meeting Will's eye, Tom shuffled his feet and stared intently at a fox slinking down the street. "Yeh that's right. She just- just came round the door and hit me. I- I didn't have a chance to umm, to stop her."

William did not reply but gripped Tom's arm for a moment and the two men continued their walk through London's darkened walkways. Ten minutes, two pickups later however, Tom felt William bump into the back of him as he stopped dead in the middle of the road.

"Again?" Came William's muffled reply.

"Yeah." His voice barely a whisper, Tom looked around them. The street was quiet and desolate, as to be expected at three in the morning, but all night, for days infact, though he wouldn't admit it to the others apart from Will, he had had the sneaking suspicion he was being followed. It would fit, he guessed, now the Lords and Ladies knew about him, but he hadn't told the Servants for fear of another push down the ladder by Carson. Now it was just too much to ignore. "Will, you go on. Yeh go on. I'm gonna wait around a little, see if I can find the joker who thinks he can mess with one of us."

o o o

For a brief moment all Sybil could hear was the thumping of her heart, muted by the thin silk trenchcoat swathed across her body, but then footsteps added to the rhythm of its steady beat. So, as swiftly as a whisper, she edged down the side road and out into a small park. Subconsciously brushing her fingers along the lump in her pocket, she tossed her hair over her shoulder, meandered down a concrete path and into the park gates. She had had a feeling that Tom, the _Servant_ she reminded herself, was onto her, but she hadn't been prepared for him to leave his companion to come looking for the source of the weeks suspicion.

Now that he had though, she decided it was probably best to call it a night. After all, what good was she to Grantham if she had to waste time shoving her tongue down the throat of one of the Servants again? Laughing to herself whilst spinning her car key on her index finger and deciding to go home and open a bottle of her finest Château Lafleur, she nearly missed the moving of a shadow on the very edge of her vision. And although she did notice, it wasn't soon enough to stop a pair of arms winding around her, one over her no longer laughing mouth, the other dragging at her waist.

She let out a muted, ineffective scream as she was roughly pushed against the park fence, the Lamborghini key falling onto the grass. She wasn't scared, no, she had been in _far_ worse situations than this since joining Lords and Ladies. No, what she was feeling was seriously pissed off. Being in such an elite gang made you untouchable and too well known to be mistaken, so who _dare_ treat her this way?

"Evening _m'lady_."

Roughly tearing her mouth free from the stifling grasp, she panted her reply and realisation. "T-Tom."

The acccent had been the first give away, but it was his eyes that had really made her realise exactly who she was up against. Even in the dark hallway of Turner's mansion the previous fortnight, she had been able to make out sparkling, ice blue eyes beneath his confused, furrowed brow. And they were just as she had remembered them, though angry now, furious even.

"Come on then!" She flinched as he shook one of the metal poles she was leant against. "Why exactly are you following me?"

Her analysis of the situation told her that she was at most risk of being harmed out the two of them, but something else told her she _could_ push him, that she didn't need to act timid, that she _could_ fight back. "Oh, I just haven't been able to stop thinking about you Tom. You know, even if your criminal skills are a little lax, your skills in other areas are certainl-"

She was cut off as he shook the bar again. "Fuck off and stop messing me around. Why are you following me? Does Grantham want to keep tabs? Yeah?"

Once again, his fury was evident, his anger practically burning the air around them, but Sybil felt something else too, something _odd_ she had to admit, but it was something like safety. Like she could say and do whatever she wanted to him and he wouldn't hurt her. God, he really _was_ new to this. "Yeah actually he does, Tom_ Branson, _twenty seven, originally from Dublin, degree in the History of Politics, sufferer of a pansystolic heart murmur-"

"You bitch!" She expected this reaction, after all, it wasn't exactly nice knowing your entire life had been scrutinised by the very people you needed to hide it from most. What she hadn't expected was the grimace of guilt that passed her opponent's face the moment he reacted. "I- I- What gives you the fucking right?"

A tight, heady silence followed; a silence punctured with a bite of venom from their harsh encounter, and Sybil felt a mixture of dislike for the SS member in front of her and a curiosity about the man stood before her. She found herself, for one wild, stupid second, admiring his face, his light layer of stubble, his straight nose, his ruffled dark hair; hey, if she had to keep bumping into one of the Servants at least he was good looking. Her admiration was short lived however as within a few moments she found her ingrained hate for the Servants overwhelm her and she could not help but rub salt into his obvious wound. "So you didn't tell them then? You didn't mention our little _moment_ at your last little Satan's Servants get together?"

For a brief moment she thought she had him caught in another bout of anger, since overhearing him speak to his friend a moment ago it was clear he hadn't mentioned their kiss, but then he smiled, a sideways grin that caused an unnerving spasm deep in her gut, "Did _you_? Did you tell the rest of the Lords and Ladies?"

Taken aback, thrown off guard, put on the spot, whatever you wanted to call it, Sybil felt it. She paused for a fraction too long and his smile widened. Trying to save herself she blurted out whatever came to mind. "Why would I? Why would I want my team to have to go through the horror of hearing how I had had to come within even an a _mile_ of one of you to escape?"

Her words however had little effect. "You know Sybil, you give me all this shit about me not knowing how to play by the rules, but it seems to me _your_ actions weren't exactly planned after all. Maybe you didn't kiss me just to get away. Maybe-"

"Maybe what?" Stepping away from the bars, not fully registering Tom had relinquished his bodily cage around her, Sybil began circling him, as he her. "Maybe I got caught in a moment and just wanted to kiss you _so_ badly I completely forgot whose side I'm on, whose side the person I wanted was on? No, I don't think so Tom, that's _your_ problem."

Still slowly circling one another, Sybil strained her ears as Tom replied in a murmur. "Maybe."

At this, Sybil felt some of Tom's anger seep into her, like cigarette smoke clinging to fabric. How dare he try to undermine her, did he have any idea what she was _capable_ of, of the things she had _done_? The thought made her shudder and she prayed in her anger that Tom took it as frustration. "You know what _boy_, sod off back to your lot. I'm not wasting my time being dribbled over by some utter idiot who thinks he has what it take to mean something, to be part of this world, to have any sort of resp-"

This kiss was similar to last time by way of the surprise element, but different as Tom had initiated it. She felt her wrists burn as they were forcefully pushed against the park railings, grinding the metal as Tom's palms pressed hard to keep them there. The kiss was brief, unwanted, wrong, good, stupid, irrelevant, everything, something, nothing... He was the enemy. The_ enemy_. That's the way it was, the way it had _always_ been. Lords and Ladies fought, attacked and murdered Satan's Servants. They didn't kiss them, they _killed_ them.

She wasn't clear on who broke away, but she _was_ clear on why. As they both turned to the source of the noise, still locked in their close, utterly forbidden embrace, they listened intently to gain the exact pattern of the siren. _Yup_, it was the police. The wailing came closer, reverberating off of the buildings framing the still, quiet road and Sybil turned around in quick motions to plan an exit. When she saw a small gate just a way across the park she turned to Tom, who she was surprised to see bending down to retrieve her key, flinging it to her carelessly.

"You gonna be okay?" She whispered, catching the key with tuned reflex.

It was an odd question to ask someone you were supposed to hate, even in _their_ odder circumstance, but if there was once thing criminals hated more than other criminals, it was the police. Tom clearly understood her question. "Yeh, I have a place to go."

Not wanting to be in one spot for too long, Sybil simply nodded and made to run away, but was stopped by a hand clasping her own. She whipped her hand away at the contact and saw a similar look of surprise in Tom's eyes at what he had just done. "Wha-?"

"What did that mean? Quickly, before we have to- What did it mean?"

"I-" She was stunned by such a question. But, taking a deep breath, she told him the Gods honest truth. "It means we have more reason to hate eachother now than we ever did before."

o o o

Half an hour later when Tom emerged from the safe house, he took a deep breath in the dewy air, the light of a new day smudging the horizion, and considered Sybil's last words to him. She had been right of course. He couldn't keep losing himself like that around her, it was going to ruin everything, _everything_, he had tried to gain in the past few months. When he had grabbed her he had been angry, furious, desperate to make her realise how much she had ruined things for him. But when she had started speaking, _flirting_ could he say, he had lost it all again. Before he knew it, he had been calculating the best moment to reach out and take her like last time.

No, that's it, that _was_ it, enough was enough. What mattered more to him? Cheap thrills with one of the enemy, or a shot, a _real_ shot, at making it big on his side of the battle feild. On one hand, she was bloody gorgeous and deliciously, dangerously off limits. On the other, he could have any girl he wanted, whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it, he just had to be dedicated and loyal to manage it. The answer was obvious, and touching his fingers to his lips, roughly wiping them as though to remove any hint of _her_ from him, he knew just how he was going to do it.

Please Review ^^

_Astounded by the amount of encouragement I had to continue on with this story, so how could I not write a second chapter? I now have so many more ideas for the future, but review to let me know what you think as you could have influence on whatever I come up with next!  
>Oh, add me on Twitter too, MissPixieWay, as I would really love to involve my readers in the writing process and you can all help me through writers block!<em>


	4. A Beautiful Lie

_Chapter Song - A Beautiful Lie by 30 Seconds To Mars_

_' Try to let go of the truth, the battles of your youth, cos this is just a game. '_

_. . . . . . . . . ._

Panting heavily, her chest tight and her skin drenched with a cool layer of glistening sweat, Sybil woke abruptly, her small hands trembling, cold fingers wrapped in a fistful of blanket. Her breathing was hollow and rough noises caught in the back of her throat as she reached out blindly for the cup of water she knew to be somewhere on her bedside table. When her shaking fingertips eventually brushed the now warm glass, her body convulsed into a coughing fit and the sound of her rasps was joint with the smashing of a glass and the splashing of water.

"O- On- One, tw- One, two, thr-ee." Her attempt at this studied calming technique carried her from the ceiling view position on her bed to the gleaming, silver appliance kitchen across the hall.

Her panting continued as she limped along the kitchen, gripping the counters for support. As she reached her destination of the final drawer on the row, she took a great shuddering gulp and hit her knuckles against the drawer as she attempted to grip its handle. Pushing her fingers out on the cold metal, sighing in frustration and impatience, she tore open the drawer and began rustling around through the layer of old receipts and take-out menus she found there.

She felt annoyed at herself for clumsily ruffling up all the sheets laid within the small space, but her quick breathing pushed that thought aside in favour of finding the particular piece she so needed. After what seemed a lifetime of fumbling, Sybil pulled out a worn, crumpled sheet of stained paper titled 'What to do during a Panic Attack' in computer font but edited with her own scribbles, and began reciting the instructions.

As she listed them off in her head, she found she knew them off by heart, already quoting the next sentence before her eyes had been able to drift down the page. This thought made her sick with worry and even sicker with anger. It had been a long time since this had last happened, two months maybe? Two whole months since she woken to the distant, but still vivid memory of a gun shot, of blood, of cold eyes...

"One, t-two three, one, two, three."

Steadying her ragged breaths, Sybil tried to block out unwelcome memories by pondering the reason for their return. Though she hardly needed a second to figure it out. In the month since seeing _him_ again, that stupid, Irish bastard of a man, her life had begun to fray. One minute she was on top of her game, the next Grantham was telling her he had heard word that the Servants, fucking Satan's Servants, were onto her, following her, tracking her. Then she was seeing them everywhere. Photographing her jogging, appearing in shops, outside her house!  
>And <em>how<em> exactly had they achieved this? By hunting down the Lamborghini owners of London of _course_. She pushed her lips together in frustration as she relived the catching of her key that night in the park. Now she was in the process of being moved, into an even more beautiful apartment she had to admit, but her car, her baby, was gone. She had been taken off of jobs, hidden away, forced to preserve the utter secrecy required for Grantham to continue his rule of the London streets. Urgh, the stupid, little Servant and the stress he had caused her. She was relieved she had become so valuable to Lords and Ladies though, otherwise...

As her tingling chest began to rise in a more natural, welcome manner and her breathing became more manageable, Sybil tried with all her might not to say his name in her head by reading the final, and void of use calming technique on her sheet; 'Call someone, have a chat, engage in conversation.' This tip always made her laugh, alright, laugh in _hysteria_, but still, it made her laugh. She couldn't imagine calling _anyone_ in this state. What, call her Mum? Yeh, hi Mum, I know we haven't spoken since I, cough cough, won the lottery money and dropped out of university, but I'm having a panic attack and need to _engage_ in conversation. Screw that. Or an old Uni friend? Hey Alexandra, sorry again I cancelled coffee last week, but I can't breath at the moment. Ha! That would only result in medical advice, not the _chat_ she needed. And she sure as hell wasn't about to call any of the Lords and Ladies. She'd rather _die_ of suffocation than reveal any weakness to them.

Nope, no one but herself could help her on these dark, solitary, frightening nights. The nights of utter terror brought back to her by- no, don't think it, don't say his-

"Tom! Tom, fucking, Tom!" Her scream could be heard across the eerie, swaying, fathomless water of the Thames, and by the very person the curse was intended, now stood frozen on her drive...

o o o

The previous hour of the night had found Tom strutting down Regent Street, humming the latest, trashy, pointless rap number one with varying precision and the added bouts of wolf whistles at passing, scantily dressed club goers. The cold air of the late, dark evening felt good on his skin and he revelled in the smoky disguise it offered him. The past month had been his best in Satan's Servants without a doubt. What with redeeming himself by offering information up on Syb- on one of the LL's, he had gotten back on track with Carson as though his past mistake had never happened. And being back on track meant getting recognition, reaping new benefits and gaining a far better outlook on life than could be seen when wandering around the streets with only your fists for company. Yup, selling out precious Sybi- selling _her_ out had been worth it.

It was with this thought, in Tom's attempt to picture his new apartment over a vague image of Sybil, that he found himself pushed up against a wall, palms splayed against the rough stone and for an awful, stomach dipping second, he thought he was being frisked by the police. "What the f-?"

He wasn't sure if he was relieved, on account of the bag of weed and Swiss army knife in his pocket or displeased at the sudden discovery of his attackers identities, when he realised he had just been cornered by Mary and Matthew from Lords and Ladies. He knew them from photos and he assumed they knew him from a description by a certain brunette spy.

Whatever he felt, he knew he was outnumbered, and though he hated to admit it, by two very accomplished individuals. So, realising his wit was the way forward and not an attempt at violence, he complied with Matthew's strong hold against him as Mary edged around him, patting down his pockets. He was angry, annoyed and humiliated to be under their control and tried to regain a little credit for himself when the dark haired Mary knelt down infront of him, checking his trousers for concealments. "Love, while you're down there, how about you-?"

"Don't." Came the single word warning from the unseen Matthew, pressing what Tom could only assume was a knuckle duster into his side, aching against his ribs.

"It's alright Matthew." Mary sighed, gripping Tom's ankles for a brief second, peering up at him with impossibly cold eyes. "I might consider your sordid offer Mr. _Branson_... but I can't seem to find _it_." Bitch.

When he had been stripped of his knife, something he hoped he would get back whenever they let him go, he _loved_ his knife, he was spun around to face two of the enemy.

"Regent's ours."

"You're a man of few words aren't y-"

Tom watched, with an over indulged smirk on his face as Matthew took an angered step toward him only to be stopped by a gentle hand to the chest by Mary. Hmm, he wondered if Carson would want to know these two seemed..._involved _with one another. "Don't test us. Regent Street is Lord and Ladies territory. Know your place, stay on your patch."

Yes, he was under a two to one ratio, but Tom couldn't stop his recently inflated ego getting the better of him. "Fucking _hell_, give it a rest. I'm simply passing through, it's not my fault you're all pissed because _my_ lot have gotten a little too close to home recently. How is she-" He was glad, for the first time, that they _were_ quick minded; it meant he didn't have to use her name for them to understand and he continued swiftly before he could think of _why_ saying her name was even an issue to him. "-getting on after we started tracking her? Scared?"

This time Matthew did the holding back, Mary sneering over his shoulder. "_Scared_? Of one of you lot? As if! So what? You tracked Sybil? _And_? Once she's out of her apartment tomorrow, she'll be back in the game, and we'll all be right behind her when she decides to hit you back ten times harder than you tried to do to her!"

Noise, that's all that came out of Mary's mouth to Tom, noise. Well, it had been pretty coherent up until 'Once she's out of her apartment tomorrow' but then it had all gone to noise, to useless, jumbled noise. "Tomorrow?"

Mary gave a look of disdain and looked him up and down in digust. "Don't go thinking you've learnt important information. And don't bother trying to follow her because you're an idiot if you don't expect our side to be doing just the same-"

"Tomorrow?" He wasn't sure if he had repeated himself out loud, but the exasperated look between the pair infront of him told him he probably had, then again, just his still being there could have caused it. So, snatching out for his knife, creating a cry from both the LL's, Tom, unsure whether it was their reaction or his sudden flurry of complicated thought that brought it on, but he just had to run, _fast_.

Tomorrow? She- Urgh _Sybil_ for fucks sake- was moving out _tomorrow_? But hadn't him and his fellow Servants been laughing for almost a week at how shocked Sybil had looked when Anna had been the one to deliver her morning coffee? Shouldn't she have left then? Moved then? Got out of that house _then_? Why would she have stayed? Was she there now, had they done _it_ yet?

His rush of wild thought brought him to a shrouded, orange sparkling car park, metal bodies glittering from the heavy glow of a nearby graffiti smothered lamppost. And, leaning against the pole of distasteful art, Tom tried to rationalise his thoughts.

Mary had been telling the truth, he was sure of it. If she had been trying to lull his side to an empty house it wouldn't have made sense for her to tell him the Lords and Ladies would be with Sybil when she moved, she would have just said Sybil was alone and left it at that. No, he was _sure_ she had lost her cool for a moment in her anger at him and had told the honest truth; Sybil _was_ in the house. So what was he going to do?

His head was telling him to laugh, _laugh_ at how much better tonight was going to go for his side because the opposition had made a huge mistake. But his heart, he preferred conscience, it _couldn't_ be his heart, was screaming at him to do something, to help! Then it hit him. He shouldn't want to help her, he should want to help his side. He shouldn't care about her getting hurt. But what if his side had already acted? Fuck, he _had_ to help her.

It seemed his body had realised this faster than his mind, as when he cleared his head of delirium he found himself, to his utter surprise, positioned with his back against an old Ford Fiesta, tensing his arm to give a smooth, quick elbow to the glass. He gave a sigh of recognition as he heard the resultant crack; he hadn't done this in a while but he clearly hadn't forgotten how. It was almost as though someone had flicked on the old 'Hotwiring a car switch' in his brain as he found himself, a few minutes later, cursing and hissing as he intuitively pressed a pair of freshly cut wires together causing hot, fizzling sparks to buzz in the silence of the night.

He didn't look around for people walking by, he wasn't an idiot; if _you_ walked into a carpark and saw a guy looking shifty you'd be suspicious, see a guy casually rooting around in his car, _no_ problem. Infact, he'd once managed to steal a huge Samsung television by just picking it up in the store and carrying it out to his car, clear as you like. Thinking about it, as he clambered into the Fiestas driver seat, he was certain one of the store assistants had run out to him to help him get the damned thing in the boot of the car. No wonder a few months later he was stealing for Satan's Servants.

_Satan's Servants_. The thought of his gang sent a shiver down his spine, reminding him of why he shouldn't be speeding through late night London, forcing the Fiesta to heights it had never reached before, grinding the gearstick as he flew around corners, twisting his arms waywardly to turn the steering wheel to his will. It was because of them that this journey was so difficult to make, because of them that he wasn't sure he was doing the right thing, because of them that this daring drive could be considered betrayal. It was because of _her_ however, the girl he had sworn to avoid, that he _had_ to drive on.

He couldn't tell you how he'd managed it without police speeding after him or killing a night wandering cat or hitting a few proverbial dustbins, but suddenly he saw the Thames, and her godforsaken, still inhabited apartment. Why? _Why_ was she still there? Why was it anything to do with this woman was so difficult? Yeah, difficult was certainly the word stamping itself on his subconscious as he tore out of the Fiesta and ran full pelt toward the spotlight lit apartment. Difficult again because he didn't want to climb the security gate and catch his new Hugo Boss jea- Damn.

As he lept to the floor from the high railings, he squeezed his eyes shut with a flinch at the loud thump he made on the concrete. He couldn't care less if one of the neighbours saw him, or a passer by, because to them he would just be a burglar, someone else's problem. It was Thomas, John and Will he was afraid of being spotted by, because they would either believe him to be wanting a place in the plan, or of the truth, acting traitorously. He wasn't sure which was worse.

But finally accepting he had managed a perfect, unspotted entry, Tom made toward the metal stairs to the apartment. That was, until, he heard a shout which stopped him dead in his tracks, his shiny shoes grinding the slabs.

"Tom! Tom, fucking, Tom!"

His heart beating wildly, Tom shouted back.

o o o

"Sybil!"

Whipping her head around so fast she heard a sickening click in her neck, Sybil froze, her ears straining against the sound of the Thames lazily seeping in through an open window. She tried to convince herself she hadn't heard anything, that the comedown of her panic attack had brought on some odd hallucination, but the stealthy, vigilant gang member within her told her otherwise. So, taking a few hard, deep breaths, tightening her silk nightgown, she padded across her living room, stopping only to pick up a certain book from one of her many bookcases. Though this particular book didn't contain pages, infact the only way you could associate the object within with a written text was its loaded magazine.

Holding the small, black pistol downward at her marble floor, the pulse in her fingertips lazily massaging the trigger, Sybil edged close to her door, cool sweat still clinging to her paler than milk skin, where she heard the clanging of hurried footsteps on the spiral staircase up to her apartment. As per usual, she felt a pump of adrenaline run through her veins as she considered the danger of what could come as she opened the door.

"Sybil?"

No. No. No way. It _couldn't_ be. He wouldn't. No. That voice. That accent. _No_.

Loosening one hand from its steady hold on her weapon, Sybil, who was suddenly shaking so hard with fury it was a feat just to stand straight, ran her hands down the door, flicking her fingers in practiced patterns to clink open each lock. When she finally released them all she didn't even wait to collect herself before tearing open the door.

"You! _You_? I swear to God, get- out- of- my- _sight!_"

"No- Syb- Are they here? Did they-? Are you-? Why did you shout my na-? Whoa! Don't _shoot_ me for fucks sake!"

Two pairs of eyes widened. Tom's in shock at the gun now aimed at his heart, Sybil's own in her consuming anger at the stuttering mess of a man infront of her.

"You told- You told them- My car- Now I have to- Why are you here? No don't speak, I- Screw it, I'm gonna shoo-"

Sybil screamed as Tom struck out, managing to knock the gun out of her hand, tumble into the room and smash the door shut behind him in one quick movement. When she found herself able to comprehend her predicament, safe to say, she was _not_ happy. Staring up at what she expected to be the white canvas of her ceiling, she recoiled in rage as she saw, through a veil of her wildy splayed hair, a pair of ice blue eyes staring down at her. And in the movement it took to shake the dark locks from her face, she realised with a bout of fury that Tom was in actual fact, straddling her, bearing down on her wrists spread either side of her face with his sweating palms covering her tattoo, his legs angled to press on her knees, restraining her, hard.

"Get- off- me- now!" She screeched, trying, and failing to wrestle from his grasp. "You fuck up my life then have the _nerve_ to come- But I won't let this go! No I-"

"Listen! No, listen! Fucking _hell_ you stupid woman!" Sybil stilled her attempts to tear free, paralysed in shock at the tearing roar Tom's voice had reached and the tightened grip he held over her. "Your house is about to be _burned_ down. Now I don't know about you, but to die in a ball of flames really isn't the ideal way to go."

Both their chests rose and fell in quick, desperate heaves as they tried to catch their breath from the rough encounter. "Burned down? Wha-?"

"Look, I can't explain right now. But the long and short of it; three of my lot are planning to send your side a message tonight by torching this place. _Don't_ look at me like that." She was glad he had noticed the disgust contorting her features. "We thought you had gone, we're not animals!"

"You could have fooled me!" She protested, resuming her struggle against Tom's hold. But once again, under his full masculine weight, her efforts were futile. So, trying desperately to make sense of all he had just said, she continued slowly, trying to keep her voice calm. "So what- what you're saying is- This place is going to be set alight, tonight?"

"In any minute, yes."

"You fuckers." She sighed, her head falling back against the floor, her body surrendering its struggle completely. She believed him. Completely. There was no doubt in her mind the SS were capable of such a stupid act. It was so obscene, so outrageous.

"Cheers." Tom half laughed as he loosened his grip on her wrists, rising on his knees a little to lessen his weight. "I'm gonna let you up, alright? But Sybil, if you even _think_ for one moment of calling back up I'll have you down on the floor again before you can scream wanker. Do you understand?"

She hated this, _hated_ it; being under the control of one of Satan's Servants. Especially the particular one that had so recently messed with her life. But he was also the one, that for some reason, had decided to save it tonight. Yes, how strange. She didn't want to bring this up right now, but found she couldn't help it. "Tom? Why are you helping me?"

She waited with unexpected, soft intakes of air, finding it extraordinary that she was suddenly so calm; pinned down on the floor, a gun not three feet from her, the threat of a fiery death seconds away.

"I- I just- I can't have your death on my conscience. Well, not a death like _this_ anyway."

Swallowing hard, Sybil gasped that she needed to be let up, to which Tom astoundingly complied, before she felt her eyes prick with stinging tears. For goodness sake, why did this man have the ability to keep mind fucking her? One minute he was ruining her livelihood, then he was telling her she's minutes from death and then he finishes off by making her cry from the stress of it all. Well, at least thats what she _tried_ to convince herself she was crying for, she couldn't admit they were a product of irony from his words.

"What do we do?" She was finally able to murmur, her voice unnaturally steady as she squeezed her eyes shut, feeling momentarily exhausted. "Actually, you can go. I'll grab some stuff and be gone as quick as. You've done _enough_." She hoped her last comment would cut as well as compliment, she was in no mood for forgiveness, not now.

Dragging herself to her feet, not looking at Tom who she heard push up from the floor, Sybil ran to her room and began flying around the virtually empty space, avoiding the puddle of water and diamond sprinkles of glass. She was pleased, for the first time, that she was moving out, as the majority of her things: clothes, books, photographs... were packed and gone. The furniture that remained behind, the furniture that was about to be ridiculously torched, all belonged to Grantham who Sybil imagined, with a smirk, could replace a million times over.

Tearing off her dressing gown, slipping into a pair of Diesel jeans, navy blazer and her favourite boots, Sybil dragged her small suitcase containing the last of her clothing, phones and laptop from her room, giving the white space one last look. She felt virtually nothing a leaving her home, it was her fourth place since joining the gang so she had learnt not to become sentimental about such things. Though she did feel a small bout of fatigue with the realisation she couldn't collapse onto the king size bed and drift into dream.

Back in the kitchen she meant to lean the case handle on the counter but she stumbled over her boots and let it drop to the floor with a clatter in surprise when Tom emerged in front of her. "Why are you still here? Hoping to join in?"

"Actually, I wanted to see if you were- Yeah, I, I might, yes. I'll _have_ to if they see me here. And I want to. They're my guys Sybil, just like the Lords and Ladies are yours." His voice was sincere and Sybil could not help but puff a little smile through her nose at his honesty.

"Well be my guest. But once I'm out of the building don't doubt that I'll call for my lot to- What was that?" She wasn't sure why she asked the question when it was obvious to both her and Tom that the sound was the excitable laughing of his raucous gang fellows. She held her breath, trying ignore the stirring fight reaction in her stomach, desperately trying to tune it into flight. There was no way she could go against three of the enemy, well four, but somehow she didn't find herself including Tom. "This is all your fault you know, you sold me out."

"You would have done the same."

Yes, she supposed she would have. Smirking with this loyal thought, she fluttered her eyelashes at Tom, just to mess with him before they parted; it seemed the done thing between them now. Then she murmured with sarcastic force. "Shut up and get out of the house."

"Funny, _we_ were just about to say the same to _you._ Oh Tom? What a surprise."

_Please Review ^^_

_This was all meant to be one chapter, but then Tom pinned Sybil to the ground and I was like guys, now I have to turn this into a two part piece! How annoying ;-) Anyway, the reviews from last chapter stunned me! So fabulous! And I've already made a plan for almost 8 more chapters if you all seem to remain interested! Thank you again! Till next Monday..._


	5. Roman's Revenge

_Chapter song - Roman's Revenge by Nicki Minaj and Eminem_

_' Make that face, go on scrunch it up at me, show me the target so I can lunge and attack it, like a rah rah, like a dungeon dragon. '_

_. . . . . . . . . ._

"Alright lads... and Anna?" Tom's greeting fell from his lips before he could even begin to comprehend the terrible predicament he had been thrown into, though he could hear his pulse beating like a drum in his ears.

Anna, who had just announced her and the boys arrival took her eyes off of Sybil, who had sneered by way of response, for a brief second to offer Tom a warm smile; a quality that always had him wondering about her position as a gang member. "Me and John were out celebrating our anniversary, but then Thomas and Will turned up announcing tonight's plan, something John had _failed_ to mention."

Her husband, yup, married gang members, gave a gruff laugh. "I do apologize... for the hundredth time."

Tom placed damp palms in his jeans at their unnecessarily intimate exchange; John and Anna always seemed to create an atmosphere like that around one another, and he had to look away from their unseen, but strong connection. But as he did so, rubbing his tattoo, he himself created a connection of his own.

Sybil's deep blue eyes, which he had noted in the brief moments since the Servants arrival watching their every move, were suddenly fixed on his own. As if his pulse wasn't pumping enough guilt already, it now began to pour it. Her strong gaze was not fearful, no, but it _was_ anxious, and he feared at any moment she would blurt out his reason for being there as a way of asserting some sort of power. But surely she wouldn't, _surely_ she wouldn't betray him, not after he had saved- _tried_ to save her.

"What are you doing here then Paddy?" There was a sly tone in Thomas's voice that caused Tom to tear from Sybil's stare far too quickly. "Didn't think you were coming, but you want in now?"

"Why else would I be here?" Throwing back a look he hoped said 'Fuck off', Tom tried to act completely unaware of Sybil's presence by walking past her now tense stance so that their shoulders nearly brushed. This was usually the way when trying to intimidate someone; act like the victim is entirely invisible while they know, and you know, that they are in fact the focus of _all_ your attention. But what didn't usually happen was that the victim would take the moment to speak on an almost silent exhale of breath.

"Gun."

If he hadn't been so close, Tom was certain he would have missed the three letter warning. But as it was, she had managed to communicate the word to him without alerting his fellow gang members now circling the kitchen, and he had understood her immediately. The pistol he had forced from her hand upon his desperate entry was laid beneath a leather chaise longue, not five feet from a pacing Will. And her request to him was that he hide it, for her, so that the threat of five of the enemy upon her would not be given more weight with the grasp of a Glock 30. Fucking _hell_, hadn't he done enough for this woman already? _Christ_.

Yet when Will took a step closer to the gun, Tom felt his heart clench in his chest and he realised his goal to aid Sybil was not yet over. "What are we all stood around for? Can't we get going?"

His ulterior motive inquiry was met with a 'Here, here' from Thomas who lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and held the still flickering flame of his lighter over his shoulder. If the intentions of the night were unknown, the burning orange spark meeting, and converting to ash, a vase of dried flowers would have been something to panic about. As it was, the Servants took it as a cue to begin their destruction of the apartment and the one Lady earned a shake of Tom's head at her stubborn protest when she simply edged onto a bar stool, placed her head in her palm and rolled her eyes.

Though his mind was in two places at the scene infront of him, half distressed at Sybil's seemingly unbothered air when he could see dark loathing glittering in her eyes, and half excited at the furniture overturning, glass smashing of Satan's Servants, he could feel the latter gradually overcoming the former. This, right here, was Tom in his element. He would kick the gun aside, there, _done_, and he would bloody enjoy bringing down a house of Grantham.

"William! Do you have your-? William!" Tom booted a lamp, feeling a boyish joy as it shattered against his shoe, and his gang fellow came bursting out of a hall way door.

"Yeah?"

"Do you have your baton?" His asked, pulling a wooden slat from a bookshelf and jumping back with swift agility as heavy novels subsequently toppled to the marble floor.

"Here." He and Will burst into laughter as he dove for the baton and made what could only be described as a 'legendary save'.

But as Will ran back into the room he had vacated, now also containing Anna who Tom saw skirt into the same door, his continued reckless laughter was interrupted by a disgusted snort behind him. "You know Tom, tonight I felt a little credit for you in coming to me, but now, watching you destroy my house, I wonder what possessed me."

"Funnily-" He flung the baton with a flick of his wrist against one of the many windows supporting a glorious Thames view. "-enough-" Another shattered beneath the heavy weight. "-I was starting to wonder-" A third splintered onto the concrete of the balcony. "-why I bothered myself."

"Charmed." She sighed, and Tom was pleased to see her wince a little as he struck a harsh blow to the final window.

He supposed it was the shouts, screams and mirthful laughter of his gang mates, but Tom felt a dark wickedness within him, not an uncommon feeling when committing such acts as destruction. And with this wicked spirit, Tom found himself wondering more and more about his decision to warn Sybil. Noting how she had decided to remain behind and watch her house crumble rather than run the moment she had the chance, he realised she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and as a result he felt a stab of embarrassment add to the deadly darkness fueling his actions.

"You owe me you know." He found the words leaving him before he had time to check them; he hadn't wanted to indicate they should meet again, but too late, he had said it.

"Oh Tom." His eyes strained a little as they reactively angled toward Sybil when he heard her slip off the stool and her boots tap the marble floor. Her free movement behind him as he slashed a painting with his flick knife was unnerving, but after a little while she pressed on. "I think we both owe eachother for this and that, the gun favour was probably long over due."

"Fuck off! How do you figure th-?" Right there, she was right there as he turned to face her, so close to him he could see the various deep shades of blue that made up her prominent irises. "Oh _no_, don't try this again."

"Mmm?" He felt a reluctant smirk spread across his face as she bit her lip coyly; she was such, _such_ a bitch.

"Don't try this whole _seduction_ thing again. I'm not an idiot and I don't even know why you're bothering. You can piss off you know, no one is asking you to stay." He meant every word but found himself remaining closer to her than his life was worth, what with four of the Servants smashing around in the other rooms.

"I know. But you know that whole, a captain goes down with his ship thing? Well this apartment is my ship-"

"And you're the captain?" Don't flirt with her Tom, bloody _hell _man, pull yourself together. You can't keep doing this, you said you'd stay away from her!

"Mmhm, but I don't think I can sit around much longer while your lot humiliate mine." And just like that, the atmosphere was broken, all with an attempted slap from the dark haired Lady and Tom's reactant grab of her wrist.

He laughed humourlessly as he pushed her up against a wall, her arms securely pressed to her back by his firm hands. His breathing was a little heavy, from his recent adrenaline rush and quick snatch at Sybil, as he rested his chin on her shoulder. "I told you Sybil, I'm not an idiot. You nearly tore me to pieces a quarter of an hour ago because I lost you your car, do you really think I'm about to fall for your little routine again? That I'm really going to mug myself off by falling into the same trap? No, not today love."

"Alright, _alright_! Tom you're hurti- Tom!" The sound of an overturning wardrobe in the bedroom muffled her shouts from the other Satan's Servants.

Yes, his grip on her was strong, but his pulse was thumping so loudly in his ear, SS blood beating through his veins, that he just couldn't give into her pleas, it felt too _good_ to be in power over her for a change. "Oh, _sorry_ about that, just a little pissed off you don't think you owe me one."

She snorted as she went limp in his arms, and he took the cue to spin her around, pressing her wrists firmly to her hips as he kept her pushed to the wall. He hadn't considered for a moment that he would find the gesture so heated and intimate. He had only been thinking of the control he wanted to show her, but instead their chests were almost pushed together, and he couldn't stop the man in him briefly glancing down her blazor, earning a struggle from Sybil and a burn to his face. But it wasn't just the awareness of her body that made it so intimate, it was the way his hands were placed against her hips. It was the sort of hold you would see a couple in, the boyfriend looping his fingers through belt hoops on the girlfriends denim jeans, running his hands across the warm span of her back, sinking his fingers down to brush the delicate lace of her underwear...

Sybil stopped his thoughts with a frustrated growl."Why are you so insistent I owe you something? When we first met I know I tricked you with the kiss then tracked you, but if I remember rightly you then sold me out, hence your reason for being here. And yes I know you might think I owe you for the warning, but I never asked for that so it's void. As for the gun, well I haven't done anything to any of you lot while I've watched you destroy the place so I'd say thats payback enough. There, finished, I owe you _nothing_."

He had listened to her every word. Considered each reason. Measured all excuses. But the entire time she had spoken, Tom had been preparing himself to hit her with the final blow. He had hoped to keep this for a later date, to use as blackmail maybe, but now seemed the right time. So, reaching into his pocket, he curled a fist around the paper he had stuffed within when Sybil had left the room to pack earlier. And slowly, very slowly, so as to keep her attention now she was free of his hold, Tom pulled the paper out flat in Sybil's face.

The change in her disposition was so startling Tom had to take a step back. Her eyes, so angry and fiery in the moments previous were now soft, scared and- and something, something else.

"Can I- Could you-?" The feeling that came over Tom as he passed the crumpled sheet into Sybil's outstretched palm was unexpected and unwelcome; he felt, _cruel_.

Watching her fold the stained sheet with precise, trembling fingers he couldn't help but feel a bit of bastard. He hadn't read all the information on the page, but he'd read enough to know, that for some reason she suffered from severe anxiety and panic attacks and he could not rid himself of the image of her scrawled 'Keep counting, it'll be fine'. _Shit_, he felt like such a prick. He could beat druggies, threaten dealers, curse at those who looked at him with sideways eyes, but to be cruel was not in his nature.

With the peculiar contemplation that had he not been driving the taxi Carson had chosen to make his getaway car all those months ago; he would never have been in this position at all, Tom found himself reaching out, taking the hand that had fallen to Sybil's side and twining his fingers with her own. If they hadn't been in such a dangerous situation he may have had more time to dwell on how small, like, really small, her hand was. But as it was they _were_ in danger, so much danger, and all that could pass between them was a brief moment in which their eyes dragged up from their entwined palms then into one another's.

"I don't suppose-" He flinched at the sound of Thomas shouting for another lighter from John. "-you want to forget this? I'll pretend I haven't seen that- that you- Well I'll forget what I read. Just- I won't use it against you- Just go- go now."

Her tightened grip on his hand at his words seemed thanks enough, but just as he was about to draw his hand away she stepped with him. "Tom- I-"

He felt embarrassed now, he didn't really know what to do, what to say. "Look, you don't have to thank-"

"No, no, no Tom listen. Thank you, of course. It's just I- I called-"

There was no need for her to finish the sentence, for through her struggles, Thomas and Will threw a mattress into the room, set it alight and watched stunned, along with Tom, Anna and John, as Lord and Ladies members Carlisle, Patrick and Edith glared back at them, their venomous expressions blurred in the flickering wall of flames now erutping between them.

o o o

Pulling her hand so roughly from Tom's that she felt each brush of the small bones of their fingers drag against one another, Sybil nimbly jumped over the kitchen counter to stand with her allies. She stumbled a little on the landing but Edith held out a hand and she readily took it, aiming to keep face not only infront of the Servants, but of her side too. A difficult feat when all you wanted to do was rid the room of all but herself and one certain SS member and offer her most honest apologies. _Why_ had he just done that for her?

"Burning the house down? Classy. _Very_ classy." Carlisle's drawl professed all his usual superiority, even within the face of flames.

As John shouted back something Sybil could not make out through the sound of the crackling flames, though she knew it wasn't good from the look on her fellows faces, Sybil wondered whether the heat she felt spreading across her skin was from the fire or the tense, vicious atmosphere radiating from the people within the room. Contrary to Sybil's many recent run ins with Tom, meetings between the rival gangs were rare, but when they occured, they were never pleasant. And the feelings of deep rooted enmity and hatred were heating the room almost as much as the now choking black plumes of smoke.

Yet Sybil found, blinking sharply from a tear of sweat that dripped from her brow, that even through her hatred at the SS stamped four- five- infront of her, she could not help but want to walk away from the fight that was undeniably moments away. And her reason? _God_, her reason. Tom. Tom the servant. Tom who had given away the chance of the ultimate blackmail, the discovery of weakness to- to what? Why had he done it? Was he planning to tell Carson anyway? Even without the evidence? But he had taken her hand hadn't he? Didn't he say he would forget what he had seen? Her head felt like it was going to explode; the pressure of her wayward thoughts and the consuming heat of the blazing fire combining to create such confusion.

Then everything really _did_ explode. Her scream of Tom's name as a knife flew from Patricks grasp toward the hazed darkness of his figure was thankfully, _so_ thankfully, drowned as shouts of fury and anger errupted around the room. Bodies were suddenly smashing into one another, crys from both sides joining the roaring of the fire and the crunching of glass crackling beneath pounding feet.

She was certain she heard a stool topple somewhere in the background as she flung herself around the burning mattress, Edith at her side, and tore roughly at Anna's shirt. A curse fell from her lips when her elbow smashed into the marble as she fell and her victims weight stumbled over her. But as quick as she was down she was up and gripping at Anna's clothes again, this time successfully flinging her hard against the floor as she remained upright, though pivoting slightly on the smooth floor. She heard a distinct crunch and mute scream, even through the spitting of the building flames and she realised, with a smile, that the blonde SS had probably broken a finger.

Her evil joy was short lived however as a young SS member came bursting at her through a cloud of smoke, and from the familiar cry she heard behind him, she knew he had just finished with Patrick. On the outside world, the thought of a man hitting a woman was a terrible act, a cowardly, unfair attack, but in the gang world, it was dog eat dog, and this young man was not holding back. With a firm grip of Sybil's hair, that she tried eyes watering to wrestle against, he dragged her through one of the windows Tom had so recently brought to shards. She gave a reluctant cry of pain as her wrist caught on the panes jagged edge and felt a warm, trickling spurt of blood seep from her skin. _That did it_. Flailing her fists behind her wildly, she could barely believe her luck as her knuckles came into contact with her attackers jaw.

"You f-" But Sybil gave no moment to allow him his insult, she had learned long ago to take every oppurtunity, and their close proximity to the balcony barrier was far too good to missed.

She shoved against his stomach hard, her hair sticking to her sweating face, and pushed with all within her until he smacked against the metal bars with a loud thud. Then, using the heel of her hand, and cringing before making her move; for she knew what this would feel like on her skin, rammed it against his nose, breaking it and subsequently toppling him over the edge of the balcony and into the dark waters below.

Flinging her wrist at her side to whip away the gathering blood, Sybil leant against the the railing heavily to collect her breathing for a second before re-entering the fray. She felt a rush of euphoria that they were now within numbers, no matter how skilled she felt her side were, it was never a good move to fight against higher numbers and she watched as Carlisle punched a fire hazed victim in the face. If they kept up like this, her side would come off sucessful. For this was what the fight was about; defending their patch and making the enemy weak and consequently run for their lives, whilst the attackers were hoping for the same against them.

A laugh much higher than her natual giggle erupted from within her as she prepared to run in and retrieve the knife she had stashed above the wine rack, though through the billowing flames she could see an enemy figure, Thomas maybe, lurking just beside it. Oh well, that wouldn't be a problem not now- Wait, Carlisle was on the floor? So where was the man he-?

"No! Please! Please!" Came out in a jumbled mess of noise as Sybil was bent back in an almost contortionist position over the railings, her hands grasping the forearm pressed against her neck like a lifeline. "Tom please- I can't sw- swim! No, _Tom_!"

As she flung out her other hand to grip the banister Tom spat blood over her shoulder and into the water, his arm held against her throat. "Don't you dare- don't you _dare_- ask- me- to save your life again!"

"No- please-" Her pleas were frantic now as he pushed harder and her body leant perilously close to toppling over the edge. "I- I'm sorry I-"

"Sorry? _Sorry_? For what? For calling your lot when I told you, for _fucks_ sake, when I told you not to? Or for what you just did to Will?" His voice cracked with the strain of his fury, red bubbles foaming in the corner of his mouth and Sybil tried to look away from the hate in his eyes by following a trail of blood dripping down his face.

"For call- For- _Alright_! Alright! Push me! Do it!" She screeched, sqeezing her eyes shut from the thick, black blood stream and mentally trying to prepare herself for the swooping sensation her stomach would endure as she flew over the edge.

Five pounds of her racing heart told her Tom was pulling back to strike the blow, five more and she thought she would vomit from the anticipation, after twenty she slowly opened her eyes. The Tom before her was no longer furious, the venom drained from his eyes. Instead, he looked as though he was about to cry. And when he wiped a glob of bloody saliva from his lip with one fist, the other grasping his own hair, she really believed he was about to.

"I can't! I can't!" Sybil took a sharp breath as he shouted and kicked out at a jade dragon. "I want to- I just can't."

Shaking from head to toe, she tried to block out the noise of Edith's screams from the house and edged closer to a deranged Tom. "To-"

"No don't- _don't_ say my name." She nodded, entirely aware that at any moment he could change his mind and throw her over the barrier. But then he swung both arms on top of his head and turned to face her with complete rationality. "Can you promise me something?"

The change was more than bewildering but Sybil was used to outward situations. "What?"

"Promise you won't come near me _ever_ again. I'm not asking for protection from your group, I'm asking for- well I'm asking for protection from _you_. If-" He took a shuddering breath and his arms swung to his side. "If Grantham asks you to follow me, or- or kill me, I don't know, just- just send someone else. Because the thing is-"

He only paused for a few seconds but Sybil found she was so desperate for him to finish that she simply couldn't wait any longer. "The thing is?"

His eyes connected with hers, gosh they were a beautiful ice blue, and the confession came."The thing is, you're like a poison to me, a drug. You're not good for me. You make me do things I shouldn't and it's driving me mad, it's _really_ driving me mad. And I don't want you in my life anymore. I can't take it. You do owe me your life now after all, the decent thing would be to give me back mine."

Her chest rising heavily, a rough swallow tearing her throat, sweat glistening on her cheeks, Sybil could only nod by way of reply. She was confounded, _stunned_. She knew she had always had the capability to mess with him, but she had never imagined she held so much power over him. Had she really been driving him mad? Had she made him do things he shouldn't? Of _course_ she had! He shouldn't have come to her tonight, he shouldn't have hidden the gun, he shouldn't have been merciful and taken her from the edge. But she was only now realising that he had done these things for _her_, not for his own gain. He had said he had warned her of the attack because he didn't want an unfair death on his conscience, but had he really wanted to save her, to stop her from coming to harm? She had assumed he had only helped her with the gun because it could have been a risk against his side to have it out in the open, but had he really been protecting her? But what was it about her that made him forget her Lords and Ladies position? No. No, no, no. He _couldn't_. He couldn't feel something for-?

"Tom, why do think I make you-?"

A siren silenced her question, and with one last fleeting glance before making his getaway, Tom shook his head at her and she felt an odd ache in the pit of her stomach. "Shh, _please_. Your promise starts now."

_Please Review ^^_

_All I can say is "What a relief!". This chapter was so, so, sooo hard to write! I have no idea why, but luckily I got there in the end!  
>Oh, for those of you who have been looking up the songs I use to support the chapters, well just a warning, the song for this chapter is very offensive and uses very badinappropriate language! But it was too perfect for me not to use!  
>Anyway, last thing before I shut up, a shout out to Emma (btvs) and Anna (lilabut) who have begun to make some of the most amazing videos for this story... all in good time though people!<br>Till next week x _


	6. Trouble

_Chapter Song - Trouble by NeverShoutNever_

_' I'm running my mouth just like I got her, but I surely don't. '_

. . . . . . . . . . .

Sybil's fingers twiddled nervously with a Downton casino chip.

_Tom ran his thumbs along the edge of an Abbey's menu._

The three Lords and Ladies desperately sought one another's eyes.

_The four Satan's Servants darted their own about the restaurant._

Knuckles brushed looped LL's.

_Nails traced stamped SS's._

Grantham swept up to the poker table.

_Carson burst through the kitchen doors._

Chairs were shuffled closer.

_Stools were scraped backward._

"I don't know where to begin."

_"How dare you act like this!"_

The silence felt like a twisted knife to the stomach.

_Blessed relief came from the following moment of quiet._

"Did none of you think of how dangerous your actions could have been to Lords and Ladies?"

_"How can I expect the image of Satan's Servants to be upheld if you behave in such a way?"_

The berating seemed to last forever.

_The rant lasted a lifetime._

"Is Patrick going to be okay Mr. Grantham?"

_"Mr. Carson, is Will alright?"_

"No. Burns all over his body, I don't know if he'll recover."

_"Yes, he's fine, broken nose, back in no time."_

Grantham surveyed them all with a look that dripped disappointment.

_Carson paced around them, anger seeping into the air._

"I hope I can expect you all to prove your worth?"

_"Is there any point in hoping you can overcome this?"_

Carlisle, Edith and Sybil bowed their heads respectfully.

_Thomas, Anna, John and Tom nodded fervently._

"For where do your loyalties lay?"

_"For who did you pledge yourselves?"_

Sybil saw a flash of cool blue eyes.

_Tom felt a flush of warmth to his palm._

"With Lords and Ladies."

_"To Satan's Servants."_

o o o

Sybil peered about the grand hall. The overwhelming use of white marble paired with the shimmering rays from the magnificent chandelier had her mascara swept eyelashes fluttering like a butterflys wings. She pressed her bubbling champagne flute to her lips, tilted the glass against them but made sure not to swallow; no drinking on the job. Though she reasoned she was over due some form of alcohol later for all the work she had put in to recovering from the night of fire two months ago.

Placing the delicate glass upon a satin clad table, Sybil edged down the stairs as gracefully as possible in her five inch heels, one hand sliding down the banister, the other grasping the material of her silk, body hugging, black and gold evening dress. She felt eyes upon her, womens as well as mens, but returning their stares would cost her an observation of the room as she descended. The crowd was thickening, but a tightly grouped bunch of people beside the elaborate bar told her the new Prime minister was probably ordering a drink.

"Any luck?"

Sybil almost jumped at the sound of Isobel's voice, as was the strength of her focus on the Prime ministers movements. "None, he seems to be surrounded wherever he moves. I know we'll get him though, it's just a matter of _when_."

Isobel gave a nod at her confidence and Sybil felt more reassured at her own words. Since the disastrous fiery night almost eight weeks ago she had thrown any thought that wasn't of Lords and Ladies aside, concentrating only on proving her worth to the gang. And through her own efforts, efforts involving a particularly tricky theft and the ransom demanding kidnap of a millionaires wife, Sybil had risen to high status once again. And it was due to this reconciliation with her former self that she now stood in the midst of celebration at the new Prime ministers victory party.

"Well, I know the plan was that I try to entice him aside with some medical proposition, but I've noticed our new leader has had a few, so maybe plan B?" Isobel enquired, searching Sybil's face.

"Yes I had noticed too," She wanted to be sure her own inspection was not pushed aside. "Maybe you're right. _Urgh_, wish me luck."

Taking an empty glass from a passing waitors tray, causing a raised eyebrow from the uniformed worker, Sybil sidled up to the bar and placed herself within the slightest sight of the new Prime minister. It was a crescent shaped bar, and while the Prime minister laughed and was laughed with at the centre, she was able to watch from one of the corners for the moment he would lean over to order and she could catch his eye. But whatever conversation he was now invovled in was clearly of the highest interest as he had yet to turn around and offer Sybil her chance. So, relaxing for a second and running a hand through her hair, she glanced around the bar, and her heart stopped.

Across the bar, directly across the bar, right opposite her infact, was the figure of a man she had not seen for quite some time. And had she not managed to steal a glance at his tell tale tattoo as he summoned a bartender with a click of his fingers, she was certain she would not have recognised him. The Tom before her was cleanly shaven, not lightly stubbled, his ordinary clothes had been replaced with the sharpest of tuxedos and his usually ruffled hair was now trimmed and styled. And though she knew it was wrong, she could not help a girlish flutter in her stomach at his new appearance; he looked good, _really_ good. But it was not only his physical appearance that seemed so changed to Sybil, it was the air about him, his disposition did not appear rough and ready, but cool and controlled, like he owned the room.

"Madam?"

After two more of these inquiries Sybil realised she was being addressed. "Oh I'm sorry."

"Would you like me to refill that glass for you?" The bartender asked, holding out her hand.

Sybil however placed a firm palm over the mouth of the glass. "No thank you, I _do_ want it refilled, just not by you."

The young girl gave a look of womanly understanding and moved along the bar to further waiting customers. And as her view became free of the bartender, revealed to Sybil once again was the now suave form of Tom Branson, though that was not all. Now pinned to his side by his outstretched arm was a young, red haired woman wrapped in a green, draping dress. An uncomfortable squirm clawed at Sybil's stomach, though she was convinced this was just due to recognising the woman as SS member Ethel, she didn't feel- no, she wasn't jea- she just hated Satan's Servants, that was all.

After one more quick glance at Tom's hand curved securely around Ethel's waist, Sybil replaced her now bitten lip with her previous pout, flicked her hair and made her eyes that bit bigger by angling them toward the Prime minister. It seemed the leaders conversation had now ended as he was suddenly at her side like a moth to the flame.

"Good evening, could I get you another champagne?"

Smirking and twiddling her silky hair, Sybil slid over her glass. "Why thank you Prime minister."

The next half an hour could not have gone more perfect if she had tried. Her combined skills of gang focus and feminine persuasion had the Prime minister eating out of her hands, and she was certain that when she proposed a private walk in just a second he would readily oblige. But while she continued her flirtatious questioning of his aims for the future, she reflected on a moment, just after she had snared the leaders attentions, when Tom had glanced her way.

Well, he hadn't really glanced _her_ way per say, more at the man she was speaking with, and the thought made her uneasy. Firstly, because the Servants clearly had business to attend to with the Prime minister like herself. Secondly, she gathered he avoided looking at her because he believed her promise broken. Hmm, the _promise_. It had been easy really, to keep. Grantham hadn't asked that she follow Tom, or any of the other SS members for that matter. In fact, though unsaid, she was sure he didn't want them anywhere near the Servants for a good while since the mess of their last conflict. But Tom wouldn't know any of this, not when he looked over and saw her parading infront of him, supposedly crushing the promise beneath the spiked heel of her stiletto.

But had he seen her? Had he _definitely_ seen her? Because she couldn't help the niggling feeling in the back of her mind that had he seen her, he would have stayed at the bar rather than steering Ethel away, God the girl seemed incapable of functioning without his touch, and leaving her alone with the Prime minister. Yet, say he _had_ seen her and acted in such a way, perhaps it meant the unexplained connection he felt to her had disappeared during their separation. Yes, that was a good thing, a _really_ good thing, wasn't it?

"You know Prime minister, I'm suddenly feeling very flustered, do you fancy a walk?"

o o o

As long as the wooden floor didn't merge into carpet, Tom was sure he would be able to use the click of the Prime ministers companions heels to pursue them, rather than following so closely to keep them in sight that he was spotted. He was definite tonight would be a basic job; find the target, use the blackmail, make the deal, go home with Ethel. Well, he was still debating on the last part. Wait, he couldn't hear- hold on, the heels had taken a left. Ethel had made her intentions pretty clear all night, he'd even had to remind her they were on a job at one point, but when he thought of last time, of how he had woken to the sound of a baby crying, he wasn't sure he fancied a repeat performance.

"Shit- fuckiddy fuck fuck-!" A piercing, chiming ring had shattered the silence he so required and he smacked his chest wildly in an attempt to find his phone. Bloody _hell_, he hadn't realised he had his personal phone on him and even winced a little at the thought of Carson's face if he had to tell him this had cost him the job. Yet, this thought was nothing compared to his stomach drop when he blessedly silenced the tone. "Ma?"

"Tom?" He felt his heart clench at his mothers voice; the sort of uncomfortable shiver any child feels, even at twenty seven, when they know they have done something to disappoint their parents. "Drunk again?"

"I-" He knew he should put the phone down, as he had done so many times in the past, but he hadn't spoken to his mother in almost two months. God, he had barely spoken to anyone in that time since the fire. His entire life had become about the gang, his ambition to rise higher had somehow been resurrected within the flames. "I'm not drunk Ma, but I _am_ busy."

"Even for your own Mother?" Her tone was light, but her words were heavy.

He visualised Ethel. "I'm with a woman Ma."

It was odd, he thought, of how a giggle could cause such emptyness. "Oh Tom! Call me when you can though? I know you're a man now but you're still my baby! And I want to hear about the weird Londoners you've driven around!"

As he mumbled a promise to call back soon, Tom could not help but give a rough laugh of guilt; for he knew _soon_ would never come. It wasn't that he didn't miss his family, no it was definitely not that, but he wasn't a fool. You couldn't be a member of the SS and expect to have a family too, well, not a family you expected to survive the remainder of the year anyway. "Look Ma, I really have to go."

"Okay son, but keep safe yeah?" He looked down at the fading, yellow bruises covering his knuckles. "And don't let any of those English girls mess with your head!" He imagined Sybil's fingers curled around the very same bones.

"Yes Ma."

Taking a deep breath, Tom slipped the phone, now switched off and previous to that put on silent for good measure, into his pocket and continued the surveillance he had managed to keep up whilst talking. He _hated_ hearing from his mum, anyone in the family really and he felt oddly exposed from the brief conversation. He didn't like the way they said Tom, like he was someone they knew, because he wasn't Tom from Ireland, not anymore. And as if he needed proof of this, he peered down once again at his amber smudged knuckles that conjured a more than vivid image of a certain Lords and Ladies member who he had found, in the past few weeks, appearing in his mind far more often than he liked. The only comfort to him was that he knew _why_ he kept having visions of the blue eyed LL; he was worried, _so _worried, that she was about to make a reappearence into his life.

He followed the still steady click of heels as he allowed his mind a little free reign, heaven knows he deserved it for the amount of it he used on the SS nowadays. And the moment he allowed it to look past the car theft he had planned with John tomorrow, and the weapons negotiations he was accompanying Carson with later in the week, his head went a little light with glory at that, his thoughts returned to Sybil. Since the night of the fire, since the night he had demanded her promise of diversion, he had found for the first month that he had been able to walk lighter than he had since first meeting her. He couldn't explain why, but he had found himself believing her barely there nod of the head at his request, and due to this he knew he could carry out Satan's Servants tasks without the stabbing worry she would appear and mess with his head.

It had been the start of the _second_ month that his torment had began. In between the twist of his key in the lock of his new South Kensington home, the clinking of glasses at his third house warming party and the whiskey baptism of his Bugatti Veyron, the presence of Sybil had slowly creeped. He hadn't been able to shake the feeling that she was holding her promise _too_ well and that at any second things would go back to the way they were; him a man torn between his side and the girl. _Torn_. He shook his head at the sleek wooden floorboards as the flashback of last weeks realisation hit him all over again.

He could picture the very moment; the light morning sun, the swirling of dust motes, the sound of his still crackling radio alarm. He had woken normally, nothing strange there, but what was distressing was that he had woken thinking of Sybil, and whether she was an early riser or late sleeper. And he had realised then, with a sharp intake of breath, that he liked her, fancied her, whatever you wanted to call it. Yeah, it _should_ have been obvious to him, not being able to harm her, or hurt her, or put her in danger for all these months, but he had tried to push it aside, had just labelled her as some unexplained vessel of his sympathetic side. But no, he straight up liked her, simple. After realising this, he had never been more grateful of his request to her, because he was sure, had he seen her after unearthing these feelings, he wouldn't have been able to control them.

For now though, in her absense, he had managed to stay focused, to play the game hard, and tonight would be no different. So, ringing his hands quickly to dispel himself of any lingering thoughts of his family or Sybil, he burst into the room the Prime minister and the woman had entered, and almost had to excuse himself, for he seemed to have left his insides just outside the door.

"Faith and begorrah. _Sybil_?"

o o o

She should have seen this coming, it always did in the end, didn't it? "Evening Tom."

"You're blonde?" Then it clicked with her. Tom really _hadn't_ seen her at the bar. She had forgetten her now golden hair, a request of Grantham's during the ransom kidnapp that she had yet to change back. And she tried to stop it, really she did, but a sudden cheered smile etched itself upon her face.

She realised too late this smile could be taken the wrong way as a dark look passed Tom's face when he turned to the Prime minister, who had watched their exchange with the utmost bewilderment, and began his demand. "Evening minister, congrats and all that, but let's just get down to business."

The sharp suited politician raised his eyebrows and looked at Sybil, clearly wondering why confusion had not yet modified her features. "Business? I-?"

Sybil felt her heart flutter when Tom reached beneath his blazor and withrew his Glock 17 with an expert twist before aiming the muzzle at the now backed against the wall Prime minisiter. "Yeah, _business_. Now- Bear with me-" Sybil knew she must look a fool, but there was something about cool, collected, unaware of her presence Tom that had her transfixed. "Here it is."

As Tom slid a laminated police record across the desk between what society would title the bad guys and the good guy, Sybil remembered why she was there. "Sorry boys, could I interrupt for just a moment-" She pulled a photograph from the crystal clutch bag digging into her soft inner arm. "-ah, there we go."

She watched with satisfaction as Tom smirked at the graphic photograph displaying a not-so-respectable minister grinding an entirely naked Amersterdam prostitute. "_Classic_." He looked up at the now sweating leader who had spun the photo to face him, clearly unable to bear Tom's snickering. "Looks like this could be a quicker meeting than I thought. Ladies first?"

Sybil ran a hand through her hair at his offer, shimmying slightly so as to catch the Prime Ministers attention, and Tom's, well it would of, had he not looked pointedly away. "As I was saying before-"

"Stop. Stop _please_. Look I-" The now pacing Prime Minister hooked his thumbs around his collar, worrying against his tie. "-I know who you are. I was- _warned_- something like this could happen before I- well, I was warned. You're umm, Lords and Servants or some-"

Giving a clearly false, patronising giggle as she caught Tom rolling his eyes, Sybil sat upon the desk and smoothly brushed down her legs. "A word of advice minister, I wouldn't mix the two of us like that lightly. It's Lords and Ladies-" She flashed her tattoo. "-and Satan's Servants." She used the same arm to casually indicate Tom who gave an offhand nod, _hmm_ he did look good in his tux.

"I- I'm sorry. You're not from the same- same _group_? You don't like eachother do you? So how come-?"

Before Sybil could allow a casual explanation to fall from her tongue, Tom edged forward, slipping his gun back into his pocket. "Me and Sybil are a slight exception to the rule."

"Are we?" Whoa, _fuck_, had she just said that out loud? Jeez, she needed a good recovery, but the best she could do was to return to the matter at hand. "You said you had been warned minister?"

He rubbed his hands together and Sybil understood that any warning he had been given had obviously been very descriptive; he knew what her and Tom were capable of and he was petrified. "Yes. And I know- I _know_ you've come to demand some sort of leeway haven't you? But I can't deal with this right now- People will be wonder-"

"This really isn't up for debate Prime minisiter." Tom spoke the words firmly as he crossed the room, and came to stop with his palms against the desk Sybil was placed on. She felt her heart clench a little at their close contact, his face was literally inches from her own, though his eyes were so fixed upon the target she was certain he had barely noticed.

"No I- I understand it isn't. But please, if I could ask to do this another time. I won't back out." Sybil gave a seconds laugh, of course he wouldn't, if he did, his career would be dead, or worse, _he_ would be. "But next week, next Thursday, I'm staying at The Mandarin Oriental, come then, at t-ten? I promise I'll have time to talk."

Sybil wasn't sure why, but at this offer, she fluttered her eyes towards Tom's and she felt her lips form a little pout when she found him looking back. During the fleeting moment in which their connection came to the agreement of the Prime ministers request, Sybil inclined her head down slightly, trying, _hoping_, that Tom would realise she hadn't known he would be here tonight. His offhand demeanour must mean he thought her promise broken and she was desperate to make him understand this wasn't so.

"Faith and beggorah?" It took a moment for Sybil to realise the low, velvety enquiry had been her own.

His eyes, all she could see were his eyes, though she did hear his deep chuckle. "I've just had a brush with my Irish roots."

"Ah, right." She felt her lips twitch and her shoulders wiggle a little. "Like the blonde?"

"Mmm-" Her skin prickled lightly under his suddenly fierce, analysing gaze. "-no."

"Oh, _well_ I'll have to change it back then won't I?" She felt the silk of her dress snag a little on the desk as she began to swing her legs back and fourth.

"No. Please don't." His eyes crinkled, and Sybil saw what she would usually have taken as resistance flash across his eyes; but what could he possibly be resisting?

"Can I leave?"

As quickly as the moment between them had settled, it was gone. Tom stepped back from the desk as though burned, and she herself slipped from the actually cool wood. They both turned to the jittering suit and Sybil gave one quick nod of the head, almost laughing out loud again as he fled the room at a speed that would shame a cheetah. She did not laugh however, as the sudden realisation that her and Tom were alone was quite pressing. Watching him slip the laminated report back into his pocket, Sybil realised that if he left now, she would have to return to her promise, and that would mean being unable to defend this evenings breach.

"I didn't know you would be here tonight you know." She hoped her tone sounded casual as she too collected her blackmail token.

Her fingers purposely struggled with the clasp of her clutch as Tom paused for a while. "Right. Well you can forget about what I asked from you now anyway."

"Oh?"

"I'm seeing you next week aren't I?"

Sybil's Lords and Ladies position suddenly took hold; she wouldn't _ever_ have imagined telling her plans to a Servant before, but- "Of course. The Prime minister job is still mine I guess."

He nodded once then slipped his hands into his pockets. "Have you been okay?"

If the room had felt compressed before, now it felt suffocating. What did he mean, _okay_? Was he talking about what he had found out about her- her _problem_? The thought of it becoming a topic of conversation made her blood run cold. "I'm fine. Goodbye."

Her attempt at storming from the room was followed by a shout of '_I didn't mean-_' before the body caught up with the voice and Sybil found herself pulled so close to Tom her belly bar beneath her silk dress dug into his shirt. His breathing wasn't heavy but he seemed to be trying to control it just the same. As for herself, she was just stunned to suddenly be in Tom's arms again after so long. _Ha_, the last time they had been this close he had just tackled her to the floor.

She swallowed heavily and her eyes felt shy as he failed to remove the hand at her back. "You look beautiful tonight Sybil."

And just like that, she broke. Maybe it was that he smelled so good, or looked so good, or that maybe, just _maybe_, she had missed his Irish accent, but when Tom lowered his titled head, Sybil edged to meet him in a kiss. His lips were soft, but the pressure from him was more than she had offered and she felt her hair cascade down her back when she was forced to lean backward, a tentative hand around his neck for support. The weight of her golden curls was then taken from her charge as Tom wrapped them around his free hand just as they parted for a brief second before reuniting in another soft, firm press of lips. This time Sybil was prepared and nudged back, feeling a tingle down her spine at Tom's light tug of her hair and the flex of his fingers on her back. Unlike their previous embraces, this wasn't heated, or anger ignited or wrong. Well, it _was_ wrong, but it didn't _feel_ it. And when Sybil drew back, pressing her lips together, a trace of Tom glistening upon them, she felt, _dizzy_.

"We've _got_ to stop this Tom, we're enemies."

"I know that Sybil, but I also know you keep friends close, and enemies _closer_."

Sybil went to let Tom kiss her again, but, catching their reflection in a misty night printed window, she slipped from his grasp and walked away, her steps precise. Trying to regain her lost loyalty, she did not look back.

_For the love of Allen Leech in a tux, Please Review, ^^_

_Not going to say too much, I'm too worn out from writing this chapter but I do have to thank you all for your support so far! I've reached 50 reviews, I mean like, WOW!  
><em>_If you don't have Twitter, get it, and talk to me, MissPixieWay, as I love to post spoiler quotes and pictures.  
>And I can't believe I finally get to show this, but fanfic author 'lilabut' has made THE MOST AMAZING video trailer for this story! Watch here...<br>www. youtube. com/watch?v=YoWSlVTDPBE It's quite simply, stunning._

_Now I've been dyng to write next weeks chapter so I better get started!_


	7. Numb

_Chapter Song - Numb by Linkin Park_

_' I'm becoming this, all I want to do, is be more like me, and be less like you. '_

. . . . . . . . . . .

Tom emerged from the steaming shower in haste. Why had he gone for a run? Why had he given an hour of his life he could not spare to _run_? To keep running? To run just too far before realising he must turn around to avoid being late? Why hadn't he waited? Gone for a run later? _Why_?  
>Because... when he thought of the dark warehouse, of examining the Glocks and Colts and Smith&amp;Wessons, of the way he sat back, feet propped up on a table, watching masked men fire the wares, of Carson's satisfied smirk, of the sheer power within his grasp as he himself shot a human mannequin, he realised, he had gone for a run to <em>feel<em> something. He had gone for a run to feel the race of his pulse, the sweat on his skin, the shortening of his breath; everything he should have felt when he shook the gloved hand and accepted into his world a dozen one way tickets to heaven, hell and purgatory.

o o o

"So, do I look okay?" The grey clouds that had gradually curled above the city of London filtered through the Downton window, shadowing Sybil as she spun slowly in her tight fitting pencil skirt and blazor suit. "Edith?"

"What is it?" Edith questioned, splaying a deck of cards back and fourth across a blackjack table, her eyes not on Sybil, but the surprising run of hearts she had just unravelled.

Sybil felt a little twist in her stomach, but tried to act natural, running a soft finger around her car key. "Prada. But I was just unsure if- if- Edith I-"

Wincing as Edith push away the cards with a sweep of her palm and crossed her arms, Sybil steeled herself. "You didn't ask did you?"

Oh fuck. "I couldn't."

"Couldn't or wouldn't?" Sybil knew this wasn't really a question.

"Though you may believe the second, I mean it Edith, I _couldn't_. I have to go on this job, I started it, and- and I want to finish it." She reasoned this was partly true, she felt it best not to mention that in the first part of the job she had kissed an SS for _third_ time and needed this opportunity to straighten things out. She waited for her half reasoning to sink in with Edith, and wished she hadn't when her strawberry blonde fellow swept up from the table and stalked off. "Edith! Edith for fucks sake! Oh God, look Ed- When I just spoke to Grantham he didn't seem in the mood to change the plan anyway, he wants _me _to- Edith! _Shit._ What are you looking at?"

Sybil didn't wait for an answer from the fear stricken, dithering cleaner as she swept up remnants of the night before; torn cards, shards of glass, crumbled slips... broken things, lots of broken things. Instead, she gave a fierce tussle of her fringe, roughly ran a thumb across her full bottom lip to neaten the gloss and strutted out of Downton, not bothering to thank the fast reacting door man. Why should she anyway? She hadn't put her life on the line for two and half years to thank people for opening a door for her, to have the people she was supposed to trust be a bitch to her, to risk it all for a fluttering stomach and the dizziness of a kiss. And that, right there, was the _true_ reason for her anger.

Revving her new bronze Lotus Evora, her body trembling with the wrath the car voiced, Sybil swept onto the road with one quick spin of the wheel. She had never been more grateful that having such a flash car stunned others into submission, as her focus was not on the road this morning. In fact she had _no_ focus what so ever, just a jumbled mind of irritation and frustration at herself, at Edith, at the Prime Minister, at the cleaner, at the doorman, at Tom. _Especially_ Tom. Blue eyed, Irish accented, dark haired, smouldering Tom. Bastard.

In the slow, dragging days since their last ki- since their last meeting, a tinge of fear had slowly begun to stain what Sybil had once deemed an indelible cover. She had always felt protected by her gang title, safeguarded and sheilded against the world, she just hadn't ever considered she may need protecting from _herself_. If she carried on acting the way she had last week, she would be dead, and there was the truth of it.

Before long the magnificent Mandarin Oriental Hotel sketched itself upon the horizon: orange bricks came together like puzzle peices, white pillars grew from the ground, flags rippled like splashes of paint, dripping on the tip of golden poles as grey turrets fell from the sky to complete the image. The sight of the picturesque place seemed to drain all the anger bubbling within Sybil; this was a job, she needed to focus, focus, _focus_. She wasn't about to let her frustration at Edith or her anxiety about Tom ruin this for her, she needed this to feel good again, to feel in control of something.

And then came her chance. Sweeping up the kerb, leaving her car, for she did not consider it a baby yet, parked in a place she deemed highly illegal, she noticed she was not the only one arriving for this particular meeting. She hadn't seen his face, but the chances of someone other than Tom arriving in a car like _that_ seemed highly unlikey. Well, well, well... this meant she could play him at his own game, and before she could even think of her actions being more flirtatious than threatening, she gracefully ran toward the hotel and leant against a pillar, waiting.

"You're late." She kept her voice cold, needing to make her attitude toward their meeting known, though she may have briefly noted his damp hair and tired eyes; hmm, odd.

"And you're a brunette." Her fingers were suddenly somehow on her bun, and when Tom smirked at her, his eyes crinkling through his forlorn mood at what she knew to be a reluctant blush, and spoke his next words, she didn't know she would later reflect on them with depth. "Welcome back to the dark side."

For now though, her red hot cheeks subsiding, Sybil gave Tom what she hoped to be a despairing look and turned away, clicking up the stairs to the hotel, letting him follow just close enough that he caught her prepared words. "Nice Bugatti."

His resultant laugh was unexpected, though she felt a sliver of control pierce her weeks bubble of fear when she heard an undertone of worry in the low growl. However, he, like her, wasn't about to surrender superiority "Like cars?"

Catching her breath once inside of the stunning hotel, Sybil peered left and right, the normal feelings of expectancy, excitement and hyper-awareness gradually seeping into her viens. It was the latter that had her giving Tom the perfect comeback within seconds. "I like _Lamborghini's_."

Sybil felt a glorified grin cross her face when he did not reply instantly, but it faltered even faster when he gathered and planted himself directly infront of her, a twinkle in his eye as he spoke. "But not Lotus's?" Fuck, there went her upper hand.

Exceedingly aware of how close they were stood, Sybil took a step backward, half out of the fear of being spotted with a Sevant, the other the greater fear of being caught checking him out. She could scarcely believe she had just done it, but even with the chaos buzzing around her, phones ringing, people complaining, staff simpering, Sybil had found a moment to glance a full length at Tom, who, like last week, looked remarkably good looking. "_Christ_."

Sybil hadn't meant to curse aloud and was not surprised therefore at Tom's change in expression. Though, it seemed, she had been spared the smirk she had expected, faced instead with a look of hesitancy. "You were right you know, last week, when you said we needed to stop."

Embarrassment quickly took hold, was now really the time to discuss last weeks mistake? "Tom, I-" She glanced around, but apart from a few admiring men and uncertain whether to approach staff, no one else took note of them. "- really don't think now is the time to talk about what happened last week, though to be quite honest I don't know if there's a need. It was stupid and-"

The arm that snaked around her waist was strong, full of purpose, and silencing. Being led to an ornate painting, and an inch of space that offered brief privacy, Sybil was unsure of what to do. She couldn't well knock Tom away in public; the last thing she wanted to do was start a domestic when she had a job to do. And she didn't exactly _want_ to pass up the chance to talk with Tom either; hadn't she been thinking of how to manage this all week?

Obviously satisfied with their surroundings, Tom released his grip on Sybil and placing his hands in his pockets, a habit of his she had noted, began."I didn't mean stop doing what we _did_, what we've _done_ in the past. I meant we need to stop not trusting each other. No, _shh_- I mean it. What happened between us, happened, and I've been thinking, maybe we need to- to work _with_ it, rather than against?"

Hoping the hotel had a cleaner who would be able to wipe her chin from the floor, Sybil stumbled on her reply. "W-what? What are you saying? What y- you think we-?"

"Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, how pleased I am to see you."

Reacting just fast enough to appear entirely collected, Sybil jutted out a hip in reply. "Good Morning Prime Minister."

o o o

The hand that signed both sheets of similarly composed paper shook slighty, flecks of the inky pen pattering faintly on the page. "So there's assurance the letting of outlined London property will be know to the, umm-"

"Lords and Ladies."

"-yes you-"

"_Lords _and_ Ladies_."

"Sorry I- Lords and Ladies before any form of public announcement." Tom noted how quickly Sybil slipped the signed sheet into her bag. "And here's the agreement that the specified warehouse will be free from any form of inspect-"

Tom smacked a palm to the paper and dragged it across the table toward him, folding it quickly and sliding it into his trousers. "Yeah, I got it."

The Prime Minister stood abruptly, his sweating hands gripping the end of his suave jacket. It was obvious that he wanted this business over with, and now that the deals were signed he wanted them gone. He hadn't asked many questions, only what they wanted, why they wanted it and why they had come to him, when he had hardly anything to do with property or deeds, but his question had been drowned with Tom's '_Aim for the big man_' and Sybil's '_Always go to the top_', a scattering of the alphabet. He had also asked for the police record of his past drug use and the photograph of his Amsterdam exploits, which he had readily been given, without the admission there were copies...

"If that's all, may I ask you-" His words were silenced by Tom's raised hand.

"No, may _I_ ask you minister if I could borrow this room for an hour-" He looked over at Sybil, who's eyebrows were arched in questioning, and winked just to get her back up. "-or two?"

"I-" It was obvious leaving two of London's most dexterous criminals in a hotel room full of his personal belongings, notes and plans, didn't seem safe, but when Tom titled his head in questioning, purposely angling his inked brand toward the light, reasoning was pushed aside. "-yes, I'm going downstairs for a meeting anyway. I- Good day."

And just like that, Tom had Sybil alone. He had noted that during the duration of their job she had been cold and sweeping towards him. He had expected this, after all she wasn't the sort of woman to be melted with a compliment and a kiss, but he hadn't expected to be so desperate for her to look at him. He hadn't exactly had the best morning, well apart from the deal being completed, but for some reason, that hadn't satisfied him.

"I doubt we need an hour to talk about this Tom. I don't know why I let that happen last week, but I really wish it hadn't." Ouch.

"That isn't what I want to talk about, well not directly anyway." He kept his voice cool, weighing up her reaction. She seemed reluctant to listen, but there something about the way she had placed her bag on a spindly glass table that made him think that she, like himself, did not want to pass up the opportunity of rare privacy quite so quickly as they should.

"Then what?" Her attitude was haughty, but it suited her and he found himself more eager to stay than put off.

"Well it's like I said before, we need to work with, well-" He gestured between them.

For one fleeting second her eyes met his, and he felt a familiar feeling of prickly skin erput on the back of his neck before she started walking about the room, brushing her fingers along carved ornaments. "I don't want to be around you."

Was that because like him, she had just noticed the utter intimacy that came with a hotel room, or did she just want to get away from a Servant? "Well in that case, let's grab a drink and get on the balcony. You know you can see Hyde Park from he-?"

"I don't drink. Well, not on the job anyway." But she would come to the balcony?

"Last time I checked Sybil, we just finished our job." He answered with his back to her, twining two green bottles of Stella Artois around his fingers from a cooler, definitely no Guiness, nope, oh well. "And because of that, you're having a beer, none of this wine shit."

She laughed and he... he closed his eyes at the sound, praying not to fall further than he already had. He was so deep in gratitude that he was turned away from her that he didn't notice her sliding a bottle from his grasp. "Beer is fine, now can we hurry this up please."

He straightened up and placed the bottle between his teeth, biting down and twisting the top until it popped off. Trying to ignore the endearing wide eyes of someone who clearly would never attempt such a trick, Tom gestured to the balcony, now sporting a swirly ashen sky, clouds lined with the weakest dribble of sun. "M'lady?"

For five or so minutes they simply stared ahead, looking over the sombre, windy city of London, forearms cold against the stone barrier, bottles of beer even colder in their palms. He actually _wanted_ the silence to feel awkward, that way he could begin his proposition, but as it was, watching strands of Sybil's now cocoa hair flicking about in the breeze suited him just fine.

But then without looking at him, sipping her beer hesitantly, she dissolved the quiet."Tom, what do you mean, work with this? Because I'm _quite_ happy to leave it entirely."

Trying to ignore her final words, he too took a chug of his beer and looked up at the perilously dark clouds. "I want you to tell me a secret."

The sound of glass clinking stone preceded her words. "If this is anything, _anything_ to do with Lords and Ladies Tom I will go straight to Grantham now and tell him about Carson's warehouse!"

Stretching out an arm, Tom took her beer and pushed it back towards her. "And I would tell Carson about Grantham's property rights if it were, but it isn't, so drink your beer woman."

He heard her puff a little air through her nose as she grudgingly took the beer and returned to her position against the stone, rolling the glass in grinding circles between her fingers. "A secret?"

"Yeah, a secret. You see, I was thinking about you-" He faltered, abruptly intent on staring at a dog walker in the distance. "-the other night. And the way I see it, we just need a little trust. Like, that's the big issure here right? We kiss, or flirt or whatever, and I don't know about you, but I'm left shit scared I'm about to get my throat slit, by my side that is, not you or yours. And it's alright saying it won't happen again, but here we are, three death risk kisses later." Chancing a glance at her, Tom dribbled a little amber liquid down his chin when he saw her soft white cheeks pinched in a reluctant smile, clearly in agreement at his words. "So, what I'm thinking is, we'll tell eachother something secret, not gang related I swear, something that gives us a little trust, so I know you won't tell your side, and I won't tell mine about... about things between us."

When he came to his skeptical end, her smile broke into a laugh, and Tom turned around, elbows leant on the side, to take in the sight. "God Tom, you're clutching at straws here!"

He dipped his head at her words, curving one side of his lips. "Maybe, but it's not like I've ever been in a situation like this before."

Her intoxicating laughter grew faint and her eyes returned to the cobwebbed sky above them. "No, no you're right. But what do I tell you?"

Shifting his weight as a rouse, Tom was able to edge a little closer to her. "Anything. But something that means something, not I steal sweets from the Pic&Mix or-"

"Do you? That's _awful_ Tom." Even she seemed surprised at her moment of humour.

"I do, and to the Almighty I ask for forgiveness, though I've probably done _worse_ things... But you could-" He took a deep breath, he had a feeling this wouldn't go down well. "-tell me why you get panic attacks and, and the anxiety?"

He was right. "I'm not telling you that. Don't, _please_ don't ever bring that up."

And he was sorry."I didn't mean to upse-"

"I don't care, just don't bring it up." Her tone was defiant, and Tom suspected she had told herself the same thing many times before. "You know what, I know what I'm going to tell you."

Turning so he was once again facing the shadowed lawns of Hyde Park, Tom finished the last dreg of his bottle, placing it on the wall beside him. "Shoot."

"What?" Her voice came as a gasp, but before Tom could repeat she continued. "Right, well, I don't know where to start."

"Well, from personal experience, I've always found it best to start at the beginning." This earned him a roll of eyes and an agitated shoulder nudge, only it wasn't a nudge, because she didn't move away once they touched. And Tom felt suddenly hot, even in the cold, icy air.

"Do you want me to just, just say it? Yeah? Okay." She pressed her LL tattoo against the stone, hidden, out of sight. "Umm, well, my Mum and Dad, they kinda don't umm, _want_ me, I guess I could say." She looked at him but Tom didn't want to stop her, not now that he'd got her started, so he nodded and looked away. The clouds were darker. "When I was three years old, my Mum, well she lost a baby. It was a boy, and, and I know it seems weird, for today, but my parents were really into having a son, like to carry on the family name. Anyway, she couldn't have more kids and that meant, well it meant they just had me. A daughter. From then on, I've always come second best to a child that never even lived, well not properly anyway. I learnt not to let it bother me, I just accepted it. But then I started training to be a nurse and my parents were really proud of me. At first I loved it, loved what I was learning, loved that my parents seemed to care. Then, well then I met Grantham-"

"-and you didn't want your family to be proud anymore? Cos it felt better having something to show your worth? Cars, houses, clothes? And because being in a gang separates you? Gives you an excuse not to feel anything for anyone around you? Makes it okay to be alone?" He took a deep breath, he had _no_ idea where that had come from.

"Yeah." She didn't say anymore, and she didn't have to. At the same moment they looked into one anothers eyes, and Tom's heart lept into his throat; she had tiny, twinkling tears in hers, a layer of glistening diamond dust on her lashes. He leant forward without thinking, stopping only when her wrist flicked sideways, exposing her identity, however-"Yes, you can kiss me."

He laughed a little awkwardly, mostly due to being caught wanting, but also because he wasn't sure if she meant her words. But when her eyes glazed over a little, her brief tears melting, Tom was certain he saw her dark pupils flicker towards his mouth. Then his hand was framing her face, he was closing the gap between them and her lips were fluid against his. It was brief collection of kisses, of soft, warm presses, and _God_ did Tom want to deepen it, to pull her closer, to taste her, but in the back of his mind he knew he had a deal to fulfil.

Feeling the cold air bite his skin as he pulled away, he reached out for Sybil's half empty beer. He had his story prepared, had put practise into his nonchalant expression, knew how to make the admission seem like he'd never cared about his past, so why suddenly, did he want to tell her something _else_? Pressing the green bottle to his lips, Tom took a swig and considered the now expectant woman before him."You might want another drink..."

"That bad?" Her little finger twined over his and his pulse sped up and froze all at once.

"I think it will be." Her curious kink of the eyebrow was enough for him to continue. "My secret... I was once-" Nope, the _unprepared_ confession it was. "I mean, my secret is _your_ secret. My secret is me, is you, is _us_."

She drew her hand back. "That isn't fair, you said a proper sec-"

"And you'll get one if you give me the chance." His heart was racing, thumping so loudly he wouldn't be surprised if a marching band strolled out to join them, smacking their tambourines and blowing their trumpets to the beat. "You, Sybil, are my secret. I- I think about you, _a lot_, and I would love to say I'm plotting your downfall, or assassination, jeez if I felt that way I could sleep easy at night. But I think about your eyes, and your hair, and how nice you smell and how soft you feel. I've told myself and told myself you're too far away from me, too wrong, too risky, but it doesn't stop me wondering what you're doing, whether you like chocolate ice cream or strawberry, or how you seem to be so collected when I know, and I'm sorry to say it, but I know you're a little broken inside."

The clouds, like Tom, had finally burst, and the weightless hammer of rain erupted all around them. Small specks of water seemed to jump from every surface, splintering off the glass, bouncing on the floor, fading into clothing. And when Sybil stepped forward and placed her hands on Tom's chest, a combination of the icy droplets and her touch sent a spasm up his spine. He captured her in a kiss quickly, sweeping a hand to untie her hair, streams of chocolate brown seeping through his fingers, and another hand tugged around her waist. Purposely with force, Tom tilted his head and steered Sybil toward the glass patio doors, reaching out randomly and sliding one open. They did not break from their kiss as they entered the suite, and Tom was required to lean as Sybil slipped off her shoes.

"You're so little." He smiled, his skin hot all over, his hands holding her face close.

"I like mint choc chip." Her response was the slightest sliver of her tongue against his bottom lip and he felt no hesitation in gripping a fist in her hair and gliding his tongue into her mouth.

He thought he would collapse when he felt her nails scratch into the back of his neck as their kiss grew more eager, more insistent, but by some miracle he managed to pull her closer, dragging her through a pair of heavy velvet curtains. And then they were on the bed, him tearing off his jacket, her shimmying beneath him to remove her own. He didn't know where this was going, but he sure as _fuck_ knew where he wanted it to. Yet even through his haze of passion, hitching up Sybil's skirt to feel the soft skin of her thighs, he knew the moment he tried anything else she would protest. But the thought that this was only meant to be a kiss was strangely exciting, it made him feel like every moment of her tipping her head rhythmically into his was worth so much _more_.

His mind was in a millions places, though each of these places were connected to the woman beneath him. The feel of her fingers tugging his collar, the ever so slight arching of her back, the smell of her hair splayed over the duvet. She could have no idea of the effect she had on hi- Alright, _now_ she might have an idea. The man in him was far too many steps ahead of his inner Servant, for Sybil's tight skirt was now gathered around her waist, his imagination on her underwear as he refused to end the kiss to look, then so, _so_ gently, he pushed against her. He groaned a little and her head fell sideways, so he ran his lips over her neck, pressing them against her in feather light kisses. Grinding against her again, Tom wondered how long he could keep this up before trying to tear her clothes off, but it seemed he wouldn't have to worry much longer.

Her giggling froze his exploring touch. "_Tom_, Tom look."

Reluctantly rolling off of her in order to look in the direction of her pointed finger, he too began laughing when he saw their figures staring back at him in a ceiling mirror. "Jesus, where are we, the playboy mansion?"

Breathlessly laughing along with her, it slowly, and _painfully_, clicked with Tom that they weren't about to resume. For in the far too clear mirror, he could see Sybil's grin faltering, her eyes scanning down the both of them, to her hitched skirt and the bulge in his trousers. "I-"

"_Go_, go on. It's alright." _No,_ it wasn't.

She slid from the bed almost elegantly, roughly shaping her skirt around her thighs and grabbing out at the bundle that was her jacket. When she slunk through the curtains, Tom sat up, his body weak, his face in his palms. He wasn't sure how long he spent trying to shake away the sensation of her body against him, but a voice broke his reverie.

One hand curling around the curtain, the other presumably gripping her bag, Sybil shook her head. "I'm terribly flattered-"

He raised a hand, standing as he did so before placing them both in his pockets. "Don't say that. _Flattered_- flattered is a word people use when they're getting ready to say no."

When she let go of the curtain, it's dark folds sucking in her shape, Tom thought of his mornings wish; to feel something, to feel his breath shorten, his pulse race, his skin dampen. _Well_, he sure as hell knew how to feel something now...

_Please Review lubly's ^^_

_I keep fretting that my chapters are getting too long but hopefully you guys don't mind... _  
><em>Oh, thank you so much for helping me reach uhhh <span>60<span> reviews! I know right =)_  
><em>Will I see you next Monday?<em>


	8. Over My Head

_Chapter Song - Over my Head by The Fray_

_'Let's rearrange, I wish you were a stranger I could disengage'_

_. . . . . . . . . . ._

The pounding, dull, body moving thump of the background bass echoed throughout club Mahiki, and Sybil found the easiest way to reach the bar was the light squeeze of every blocking male figures waist, parting the sea of bodies at the expense of resultantly hopeful raised eyebrows. She also had to battle past two girls who seemed to be being force fed a cocktail by some very drunk man and a gay couple testing the other side with an even tipsier woman. Taking Alexandra's hand and tugging through the gradually opening pathway, Sybil reached out for the bar.

"Oh my word Syb, I didn't think we'd make it through!" Giggled Alex, smacking her clutch on the counter then instantly recoiling as a spilt cocktail seeped into its silk. "Right what are we getting again?"

"Well..." Twirling on the spot, her heels sticking to small patches of beer, wine and spirits that had slopped from glasses due to the excitement at hearing a favourite song, Sybil searched the room, laughing when she caught sight of two doubled over, hysteric figures. "I think I'm putting a cap on Annie and umm, yeah, I'll let Em have one more JD."

Picking out the now screeching pair for herself, Alex turned to the bar. "Hey, yeah can we- can we have, a Jack Daniels and coke, a vodka and lemonade, a ginger be- yeah a vodka lemonade, a ginger beer and an orange juice- you sure you don't want something stronger Syb? No? Okay. Just that then thanks. Cheers."

Without a second thought, Sybil drew out a few notes, as was ridiculously required in such London clubs, and handed them to a protesting Alex. "For Gods sake Al, I won the lottery didn't I? Stop trying to pay and just take advantage!"

When the crisp notes were hesitantly pulled from her grasp, Sybil eyed her friends reaction with more scrutiny than was really necessary. It had been easy, those years ago, to tell her friends and family she had won a life changing amount of money on the lottery, but actually acting like she _had_ often phased her. Was a winner open about their luck, or were they supposed to shy away and reap the rewards for their own? Her uncertainty often led her to the first, after all, in reality she had been at work _all_ day, _everyday_ since that night in A&E, so why shouldn't she share the benefits?

Curling her fingers around two foggy, iced glasses, angling her arm slightly so as not to let her bag strap slip from her shoulder, Sybil felt her head dip of it's own accord; a tell tale sign she felt eyes upon her. Then, as though her suspicion had taken possession of Alex, she felt a nudge in the ribs. "Don't look now, but there's a man in the corner just _staring_ at you!"

Didn't her friend realise the phrase_ 'don't look now'_ actually ignited the sudden, desperate impulse to do just the opposite? Yet Sybil resisted the urge to lift her eyes across the room due the all at once heavy pounding of her heart and the aching tightness of her jaw. Was it _him_? Was it Tom? Oh Jesus. Why _wouldn't_ it be? Weren't they always just thrown together in this way? She didn't think she could face him, not now, not like this! Not with her friends and not her gang, not unprotected and vulnerable. So easily _approachable _in an environment where they were surrounded by grinding couples and kissing lovers, whispering their drunken feelings for one another. Damn, why had she worn such a little dress? Did she look slaggy? Would he think she was teasing? Wait, why did she care? This was ridiculous! Just look up, just _look_!

Sybil had thought, that when she looked up to find the man wasn't Tom, she would simply flick her hair or peer back through smokey lids. What she _hadn't_ expected was to have to turn on her gang posture of strength and power, her eyes narrowed with menace, her body emanating supremacy. For the man before her was a Mr. Maxwell Curtis, bank teller and father of two last time they had met. Neither of these pieces of information explained her defensive stance though. No, the reason for _that_ was that Maxwell was also the brother of Indy Curtis, well known cocaine addict and customer of a Lords and Ladies dealer, and when Sybil had last faced the two of them, _he_ had been down on his knees promising to pay his sisters debts in exchange for her safety. That had happened more than a year ago, and Sybil was surprised at how vividly she remembered the look of gratitude in his eyes when she accepted his deal and spared his drug ravaged sibling.

"Whoa, who's getting the bitch face?" Emma and Annie had somehow managed to battle through the crowd, and Em now held Sybil's arm as she twisted her head to and fro in the direction of her glare.

"No one." Her stare had obviously worked as intended, as Maxwell was no where to be found. "Let's go sit, yeah?"

Heels wobbled and dresses were tugged as the four girls squeezed through the pulsing crowd to the Mahaki seating area. When they flopped just short of graciously, Sybil felt a tightness in her gut as she realised her night was over. Sure, they may have a good few hours left till the club closed, but as far as _her_ enjoyment was concerned, the end had arrived and resided through the presence of Maxwell. It was rare that Sybil could enjoy a night out with her old Uni friends, due to usually dropping out last minute to go on surveillance or turning down dates that fell on planned raids, but during tonight's stolen hours, the evening so far had been hilarious, the perfect distraction from thoughts of Tom. Of his hot touch on her skin, his delicious kisses, his strained declaration and the dark look in his eyes as she fled from him... But her brief hours of fun were over now, as all these thoughts had returned, and as the image of a crumbling Indy Curtis crossed her mind also, she realised they had not come back alone.

Sipping her drink and crossing her legs, a difficult feat in such a tight dress, Sybil wondered how best to broach the topic she had had on her mind since- since the hotel. She had considered Google searching her suspicions, but she thought back to the night of her first panic attack and remembered how she had almost suffered another after reading through some of the utterly horrific stories on the _so-called_ better health forums. No, that wasn't the way she wanted to go about this. She needed to talk to someone, and who better than a medical student?

"Hey Alex- Alex, can I ask you something?" Waiting until Annie, Em and Alex had finished giggling at some missed out on joke, Sybil patted her friends leg. "Alex? Can I ask you a question?"

"Yes, she'll marry you." Laughed Emma, sipping happily on her JD and coke, playfully swooning at the mock scenario.

"Very funny. No really Alex, it's a medical question. Ha, knew that would get your attention! Right, what have you learnt about her- heroin addiction?" She wasn't sure why she had stumbled on her words, this was simply an innocent inquiry, it might be nothing.

Her friend looked a little perplexed, after all, such a topic didn't often come up on a night out with the girls. "Well, heroin is highly addictive, makes a right mess of someone really, because after a while the addict will start needing more and more. The biggest health risk comes through injection, mostly due to the chance of hepatitis transmission. I mean, as for the actual effects, I think it makes you feel really relaxed or something? I'm not su-"

Sybil shook her head. She knew _what_ heroin did to people, she had seen the effects countless times with her own eyes. She had seen people pay for drugs with what she knew to be money cheated from their familys, heard them makes promises of more payments once they had worked out which lie to use next on their friends, had watched the shaking of their sallow skin as they grasped out at their reason for being. God, gangs and drugs came hand in hand, like mother and child, one the provider, the other dependant. You didn't live on the wrong side of the law and not know the difference between a line of high purity coke and a dealers cheap mix of sugar starch. No, it wasn't the consequences of a drug habit that had Sybil's knowledge facing a dent, it was her understanding of _recovery_. See, that was never an interest to gang dealers; an addicts heroic story of kicking the habit didn't pay for a luxury lifestyle. "Sorry Alex, I should have been more specific. I meant, how does an addict get off the drug? Like, can they? Is it too hard to? Are you capable of stopping once you've started?"

She could see her friend becoming slightly worried, and she noticed Emma and Annie lean in a little, but Sybil kept her gaze serene, sipped a drop of her drink and tapped her stiletto to the music. "Well, it is hard, _very_ hard, but not impossible. Heroin is risky, because once you try to take a break, if you go back on too hard you can overdose. So when people choose to quit, they generally mean to give it _all_ they've got. The prescription methadone helps, it acts as a weak replacement to heroin, to take the edge off and eventually wean a person from the drug."

"And that's the cure?" Could it really be so simple? Was she worrying for nothing? Wait, worrying?

"Well, that's the medicine. And obviously that's my strong suit. But I'm not a nurse in training who believes solely in the power of scientific discovery, it's will power too Sybil, there has to be _something_ to make you want to get off of it. Maybe for their children, or after watching a friend die from an overdose, you know, something big." Alex took a slightly dribbled sip of her vodka lemonade. "Why do you ask anyway?"

Ah, _there_ was the million dollar question. And the answer? Well... last week I let a man, who I could be murdered for looking at twice, kiss me, _again_. I let him touch me, hold me and pin me to a bed. I didn't stop him, I couldn't, I was too lost in him. I kissed him back, I _really_ kissed him back, and I _really_ wanted to. I hadn't realised I was capable of such elation until that moment, surrounded by him, _trusting_ him. I nearly forgot how breath as he ran his hands all over me, brushed his lips over my neck as I turned to let him, tilting my head so far as to notice his hitched shirt sleeve and the tiny, red, puckered, pin prick scars on his inner forearm. _Oh Tom_. "No reason."

Alex's eyebrows remained twisted with uncertainty for a while longer, but Em seemed not to notice as she finished her drink and turned to a deep in thought Sybil. "Don't you want to ask me a question on media and journalism now? Or maybe Annie could answer any query you have on architecture?"

Sybil took the helping hand from her sinking sand puddle of thought. "No thanks Em, that's enough information for me tonight, I'll leave all the lessons to you UCL girls!"

"Hey you were one of us once!" Hiccuped Annie, pressing a few twinkling nails to her lips.

"_Once_." Sybil chinded, a squirm of discomfort swirling within her. She didn't like to talk of her University of College London days much, of her eccentric room mate Justine, of the mind enlightening lectures, of late nights devouring library books, and she couldn't put her finger on why.

The Dj began to spin a new mix and the crowd offered mixed reviews as Em leant forward to speak over the din. "I still don't know why you left you know! I mean, I know you were suddenly rolling in it and everything, but I never got the vibe that you were bothered about being a money making career woman to begin with, I thought you just liked helping people, doing some good."

Annie nodded along, placing her finished drink on the floor. "You were one of the best in your class weren't you?"

Before Sybil could awkwardly stretch forward, her ex classmate Alex got there first. "She _was_ the best! She got work experience on an A&E ward in her second year! I mean, come on! But then again, I guess it was just meant to be that you got that offer, eh Sybil? Didn't you buy the sacred lottery ticket before your night shift one evening?"

Her jaw tight, the earlier unexplained clawing feeling in her stomach, Sybil uttered all she could with her lips against her glass. "Mmm, meant to be."

The topic of university was soon dropped to be replaced by talk of Emma's on/off relationship with some upcoming actor and Annie's rant about her late-on-the-rent room mate. The change was bliss to Sybil who allowed herself sweeping moments to completely switch off and think of what she had found out tonight, what she may have found out about Tom, and how she felt about it all. Then, out of no where, the words _'My secret... I was once-'_ shot through her head like an arrow to the bullseye. Of all the snippets Sybil had allowed herself to repeat from last weeks grey, cloudy morning, this had not been one of them. No, it was the stuttered confessions she had allowed to send her to sleep every night and rouse her in the mornings;_ 'I think about you, a lot'. _But now her mind was in overdrive, had he meant to tell her that he- that he felt like that about her, or had he intended to tell her something else? Something dark and deep, like her own admission to him. The ghost of smile passed her lips; _'Yes, you can kiss me'_.

"Sybil did you hear me? Your phone?" Annie held the black phone so close to Sybil's face she went a little crossed eyed. It was her gang phone.

"Cheers." Taking the mobile, answering with fumbling fingers and shouting down the line that she needed just a moment, Sybil cut the crowd carelessly and stumbled outside. "Hello?"

"Hello darling, might have a job for us if you're up for it?" Mary's voice sounded purposely inquisitive, but they both knew if Grantham needed a job doing there was no question about being up for it or not.

"What's the job?" Sybil pressed a finger to her ear, a slight suction noise accompanying the plugging movement.

There was a short pause. "Well apparently two of Satan's are at a street racing meet. It's a route starting at Tottenham Court Road station, pressing on our patch, and Grantham wants us to go down there and sort them out, show them their place. So? Where should I get you?"

The earlier worm of discomfort Sybil had felt wheedling its way around her body all evening suddenly reared its ugly head again. "Which two?"

"Hmm, well it was Anthony who thought he saw them. He reckons that young boy, William? And he thinks maybe that other man, umm what's his name, the Irish one?"

"Tom, his name is Tom." Hands shaking slightly, Sybil edged back into the club entrance and reached out to a passing bartenders tray, downing the entire rainbow concoction within the crystal cocktail glass in one hard gulp. Wiping her mouth roughly, she persevered with Mary. "Sorry Mary, I can't come out on a job. I've had a bit to drink you see. I really don't think I could cope."

o o o

He kept his hands still, so still, _frozen_ in fact. If he moved she would break, he was sure of it, would crumble to dust and he would never be able fix her. But it was _so_ hard, an agonizing challenge, to remain rooted when her hands were on him like that. Roaming across his skin... combing through his hair... Then, just when he thought his struggle to remain lifeless would be rewarded, just when his eyes locked with hers and her beautiful blue irises came that bit closer, she fell. A hole had appeared in the floor beneath them, a chasm of shadows and darkness, and when he reached out to pull her back, he found he was holding a gun, and shooting bullet upon bullet after her-

"Holy shit!" Panting hard, twisting a hand in the t-shirt material over his chest, Tom looked for the source of his dreams, well nightmares, interruption. "Bloody hell Ethel! Can't you shut that kid up?"

Clearly she couldn't as the wailing 9-month old reached a fiercer pitch. "I'm trying alright! And you didn't seem to mind when you spent the night at mine the other week!"

"No, you're right, I didn't! And I still didn't when I screwed the babysitter after you left either! But now, now I do mind!" Deciding he could bear the child's warbling screeches no longer, Tom descended the stairs of the Abbey's upper eating area and flopped heavily onto a plush dining chair on the main floor.

Lolling his head over the back of the seat, staring up at the twinkling ceiling of Carson's awarded (threatened, bought, dealt) 3 Michelin star restaurant, Tom tried and failed not to let his mind wander back to Sybil. He'd attempted everything, flooding himself with thoughts of upcoming jobs, of football scores and the latest F1 results, of other women. But no matter where or when he struggled desperately to retain such thoughts, gripping to them like a drowning man at sea, he would suddenly find himself on a large soft bed, an even softer weight beneath him, sifting through long dark hair, tracing perfectly smooth skin, hungrily kissing his very own Juliet...

"For God's sake boy, are you listening?"

This time Tom's rapidly unravelling thoughts of the memory, slightly altered by a distinct lack of clothing, were destroyed with a swooping stab to his stomach as he reached out dramatically so as not to topple from his chair. "What the-? Oh, Mrs. Hughes. Sorry, I- I was in another world."

Mrs. Hughes looked down on him with concern, no doubt wondering which world could be so consuming. She was a stern woman, but Tom didn't feel the weight of her gaze too heavily. She could be quite the motherly figure could Mrs. Hughes, well Elsie, but no one called her that, expect for one man. When Carson had bought the Abbey as a gang sanctuary and wealth cover up he had needed someone to run the restaurant and, well, hello Mrs. Hughes. And though she may not be directly involved in Satan's Servants activity, it had long been known that there was a reason she was Elsie to no one but Carson, so she was regarded rather highly among the members.

"Hmm, I can tell. Now I want a word with you." Her hands drummed a hard rhythm on the table.

This was odd, hadn't he been called to see _Carson_? "Sure?"

Mrs. Hughes sat straight on an opposite chair, considering him for a moment. "Do you think, perhaps, you could lay off of Ethel?"

Feeling as embarrassed as the time he was thirteen and got off a department store lift early onto the lingerie level, Tom tensed his shoulders. Was he actually being told off? He, who had spent the last six months surviving on his wits? Umm, no, this _didn't_ happen. He tried to keep his frustrated voice measured. "Sorry Mrs. H, but that bloody baby of her's shouldn't be here-"

"I think you'll find that baby has _every_ right to be here! It isn't Ethels fault she's a single parent you know." She pointed purposely to the high level with her next words. "That's a pure Satan's Servants child she has there and I won't have her feel she can't take care of him _and_ keep up her lifestyle."

Whatever lashing comeback Tom had felt bubbling inside of him had gradually turned to air. "Pure _SS_? Wait, his Dad is one of Satan's Servants?"

The burn on the back of his neck in the sudden worry he had been sleeping with a gang fellows partner cooled when Mrs. Hughes abruptly stood and spoke. "_Was_ one of Satan's. He died on a job just after the child was conceived I believe."

"Ho-?" Though Tom already had a feeling he knew the answer.

"One of Lords and Ladies. Shot him dead. He was outnumbered two to one. We got the killer though, James I believe his name was, though we never identified the second person. But revenge hasn't brought that kiddies father back, so play fair Tom." And with that, she walked away.

Groaning loudly, Tom roughly pulled another chair, it's wooden legs scratching the floor, against his own and laid back on them, a palm covering his face. Were women born with the ability to do that? To hone in on all those vulnerable, defenceless, exposed emotions that riddled the human mind? To take them and tear them and twist them and throw them back? So now, as well as the tight, clenching, unamed pain he felt deep in his gut whenever he thought of a pair of swaying velvet curtains, he also felt a small swell of guilt for Ethel.

Oh shit, he was thinking of Sybil now... again. And he was enduring that quivering cramp in his stomach as his minds eye watched her leave... again. Pounding his head over and over with his flat palm, Tom cringed a little as banished words savagely broken his recently, and poorly, built memory barrier: '_You, Sybil, are my secret_', '_I've told myself and told myself you're too far away from me_', '_I know you're a little broken inside_'... Every syllable brought him embarrassment, after all, guys just didn't say stuff like that, they just didn't! And they also made him feel a fool.

He hadn't been thinking when he had told her how he felt, he hadn't considered the weight of his words, and for that he was a damn right idiot, a stupid, ridiculous fool. Telling any woman how you felt about her was a big commitment, but Sybil was different, Sybil was a whole other matter. Sybil was in a gang, an enemy gang, and if the rules of hers were anything like his, trying to leave meant death. And isn't that what his confession had been, _really_? In a round about way hadn't he asked her to give up on her gang, her world, to take a chance on him? And it wasn't like she would do that for just anyone. God, it wasn't like she would risk everything for one date, on the off chance they might work together, and the thought actually made him laugh out loud. He could imagine it now, a shoot out at dinner, a double murder over coffee. No, to do something so drastic you would have to- well you would have to- to _love_ the person, to want to be with them forever. For fucks sake, they had barely known each other for half a year, and he had told her _those_ things? Argh!

But it was okay now, wasn't it? It was _done,_ right? Because deep down he had the feeling that things between them, between him and Sybil, were over. He just couldn't shake the notion that all their past encounters had been leading up to _that_ moment, his confession, and in the end she had- she had rejected him. She was flattered. He was numb. They were _nothing_.

"Tom!"

Jumping up from his lazed position with quick agility, Tom skirted round the maze of luxuriously decorated tables, his hands skimming the silk, and followed the demanding voice like a dog to it's master, which, in an abstract sort of way, he was.

Edging into Carson's secret office located behind the Abbey's huge kitchen, gang boss he may be, Carson still loved to be in the thick of the fine dining action, Tom announced his presence with a nod. "Carson."

As was a regular habit, Carson could be found examining his extensive wine collection. A bottle still in hand, the smart suited leader turned around. "Ahh Tom, take a seat."

Tom crossed the plush, oak walled office with a calculated pace, not too fast, too eager, not too slow, too detached. Even sitting down was a challenge, but in the end he settled for lifting one ankle to rest on his other knee, half leaning back with his elbows nudging the chair arms. Okay, keep it cool. "Is there a problem Carson?"

"There might be." And for the first time since the summons this morning, Tom began to worry.

No, _trust_, it won't have anything to do with her, it won't, _trust_. "There is?"

"Well, not so much a problem, more of an inconvenience. You see, I'm sure you were aware we were expecting a delivery from Belguim in the next few days, however I've heard word the police are onto it." Tom sat up straighter as Carson paused, this was an important job, he could feel it. "Obviously I'm not about to stop my business because of the law, so I've arranged for the stock to go to Amsterdam for holding until the police are off our backs. But I need someone to go to over and make sure none of our overseas assailants get, ahhh, handsy with the hoard."

_"And you've picked me? You want me to do it?"_ Was what Tom _would_ have said if he wanted to sound like a complete excitable pillock, instead, he settled for, "Of course I'll go." And too show a little initiative. "But isn't Amsterdam risky? I know the Lords and Ladies own territory over there." Something he only knew from Sybil's blackmail to the Prime Minister, though he had failed to mention that to Carson when he told of his suspicions the LL's were spreading out over there.

His knowledge was rewarded with a slow nod of Carson's head, causing a smug bubble to grow in the pit of his stomach. "True, they have a significant stake in the red light district. And I don't doubt you may come into contact with some of them. Should you, then I leave it up to you to take whichever action you see fit."

Smirking and pressing his fingers to his lips, Tom gave a small laugh. "Don't doubt it."

Carson began to screw open a bottle, and Tom could see his mind was now elsewhere. "I rue the day any member of Lords and Ladies _breaks_ Satan's Servants in any way."

Break? Breaks? Ahh, shit. That feeling, that clenching, cramping, spasm in his gut whenever he thought of that one Lady, that one woman, Sybil, was just _that_ wasn't it? Break._ Heart_break. Well, that was a fucker. Bloody hell. Rue the day Carson, rue the day.

_Please Review ^^_

_Breathe Pixie, breathe. My word this chapter was a tricky one! Sooo tricky. And for anyone who noticed, yes it is the first chapter where Sybil and Tom have not met. Maybe it was so hard to write because I was sad about this? Haha!  
>Anyway, I say this every week but the reviews you guys are writing are wonderful, I really take note of every word I read! So thank you!<br>As for next Monday, well let's just say, I think we need to get out of London for a little while..._


	9. Stay With Me

_Chapter Song - Stay With Me by You Me At Six_

_' How do I know, if I should stay or just go? The bottom line is this way that I'll never know... '_

_. . . . . . . . . ._

Tom had never had much of a connection to fate. Had never considered his actions were a product of fate. Had never felt his mistakes were a lesson from fate. Had never thought fate would ever come to his aid. Until last week that was.

He had been stumbling around Amsterdam's smokey, busy streets, not _knowing_ his destination, but looking for it all the same, when he had seen her. Dark hair, pale skin, blue eyes, stunning smile. And all at once, the sickening guilt in his gut had eased a little. He had followed her for a while, clinging desperately to the floating sensation her presence bought, but he had not gone to her. Not now- not now things were _over_.

Following her just long enough to realise she had taken him exactly where he needed to be, his poisonous guilt returned when she walked with purpose into a huge, dolls house looking brothel named Rosamund's. The moment her figure disappeared from view, the light feeling left him and he remembered with a jolt the five women he currently held under his watch. He had been stupidly naive when Carson had spoken of a delivery the previous fortnight, thinking of weapons or drugs, so he hadn't been expecting to find a bunch of young women bound for a life in Britain's undergroud sex trade. And in his guilt at continuing to fufil his job no matter what the hoard, Tom had subconsciously decided to seek out Amsterdam's red light district in the hopes he would see a genuine smile on one of the many prostitutes faces. He hadn't.

So he had gone about his job as best he could, even allowing each woman to give him a massage, and purposely stopping her half way through, in an attempt to keep them blissfully ignorant of what was going to happen at the sort of massage parlours they were being sent to. He had thought of Sybil at his low points, no matter how wrong it was, and he hadn't been surprised when he saw her _again_. Though this time it was night, and she was on a balcony, crying, shaking and mumbling. His heart ached so heavily at the sight it was all he could do to turn and walk away.

Two days on however, and Tom had decided enough was enough, he had, just _had_ to see her again. There was only one place he knew to look, and the danger of his Satan's Servants self walking in was almost a death wish. Rosamund's was clearly a Lord and Ladies brothel, it was so grand and ornate compared to all the other whorehouses around that it practically reeked big business. Yet, sticking a large plaster over the stamp of his gang, he had walked straight into the den of lust and found himself suddenly surrounded by some of the most beautiful women he had ever seen in his life.

"Good evening Sir, how may we help you this evening?" Simpered one woman with stunning black hair and olive skin, wiggling her corset bound body and stroking down his arm.

A blonde woman with tanned skin, dressed in a skimpy, red, silk dressing gown stepped forward. Tom caught her eyes glint a little as she looked him up and down and he suddenly felt very, very hot. "Would you like a drink? Hold my hand, I'll take you through."

Reaching out too quickly than to be considered cool, Tom set his jaw a little when the prostitute wound her hand around his and pulled him down a long, plush, pink corridor and into a large hall. The ballroom was quite simply, stunning. Dimmed in a soft, golden glow, the hall glimmered beneath the largest stained glass lampshade he had ever seen. Huge, luxurious sofas were dotted about haphazardly, a small but well stocked bar graced one corner and a fully fledged band played beautiful music in the other, he recognized the tune but not well enough to know it was Glen Miller's In the Mood. Men lolled about the room in a trace like state, smoking cigars and cannabis roll ups, drinking amber liquid from ornate glass tumblers. In fact, the entire effect was very, and oddly, considering the circumstances, classy.

But, as well as admiring the room, Tom was a man and as such had found it impossible not to notice the most enrapturing beings within. Here and there, barely dressed women slid around poles, glided into the laps of seated gentleman and swept through a golden back door with a customer on their arm. Unlike the prostitutes he had seen today in shop windows, some dressed in maids outfits and others licking icing from cupcakes, these women were like goddesses. Sleek, shimmering hair, gleaming soft skin, swathes of silk and lace wrapped around their feminine figures, they floated about the room as though they were not of this world. Tom gave a gulp and a quick, subconcious brush of his crotch area before shaking his head; he wasn't here for _that_, he was here to see Sybil, even if just to glance at her for a stolen minute. And with this thought he wondered how he was going to manage sneaking out back to find the office or business room he assumed she had been visiting.

So lost in his planning, he hadn't realised he had stopped moving until the gorgeous blonde stepped so close to him he could see a fine layer of glitter dusting her cheeks. "Now Sir, is there any lady you would like to see in particular? Or would you like to just sit for a little while, I know all our girls would love to make your acquaintance."

"But surely you've told the gentleman the rules Cindy?" Out of nowhere a red head had descended upon them, an arm around Tom's waist, looking up at him through intricately made up eyes.

"I was just getting onto that Pix." There was catch to her voice, but Tom, gradually losing the battle to keep focused, remained simply mesmerised by the two of them.

"I don't mind." He turned to the red head when she flicked her hair, fiddled with her black, lacy slip and began playing with his shirt buttons. "Now Sir, we promise you a truly wonderful evening. But just to make things, ahh, a little _easier_ for you, each of our girls wears one of these." She brushed his lips quickly with her knuckles causing him to take a sharp breath, before pulling away and flashing him the pale pink ribbon tied to her wrist. "A black ribbon means a show girl, from then you can have a lap dance, strip tease, pole dance, whatever you prefer Sir." Shit, was he dribbling? "A pink, like me, is a treat girl. If you want to uhh-" She tugged collar. "-play around, then come to one of us, sound nice?" Yes, he was dribbling. "But your red ribbons, your dream girls, well Sir, they can make all your wildest fantasy's a realit-"

"Pixie! Mr. Cichon has requested you." Tom was too transfixed with the redheads now spread palm on his chest to notice who had spoken, though when this Pixie moved away mumbling what he thought could be '_One more blowjob and that man will burst'_, his jaw fell to the floor and shattered at the sight infront of him.

Skin dazzling in the rainbow glow of the lit glass, the enchantress before him wore a strapless pale blue chemise, held only to her body by a loose corset between her partly exposed, smooth breasts. Her pale legs seemed to go on for days, endings in a pair of glittering heels that gave her a mystical glow, the real princess Cinderella. Long, waving strands of mahogany hair ran down her back, her eyes, blue pools like the shimmering ocean, looked into his as though he was someone she had been waiting on for a very long time. She wore a _red_ ribbon.

"Sybil?" The room slunk around him. Oh God, what had Grantham done? No. The bastard, the fucking wanker, the bloo-

"No Sir, it's Felicity. Would you take my hand?" Blood pulsing through his veins, Tom disregarded her outstretched fingers entirely, and bore his eyes into the red, snaking, devils tongue silk around her wrist. Her next words came low and dangerous. "Tom, _now_."

Every step seemed a mile, every breath a hoarse gasp, and before long they were in a dark corner and Tom felt himself being forced onto a cushy, purple sofa. "What has he done to yo-?"

His heart reaching a thoroughbreds pace, Tom didn't know what to do with himself when Sybil lowered herself onto him, her bare legs straddling him as she wrapped her arms loosely around his neck. "_Shh_, it isn't what you think- it isn't what you think." She punctuated each sentence with a swift look over either shoulder.

"Have you been-?" His voice shook and failed him.

"No, no, _no_." Her hair swayed as she violently shook her head. Then, a surge of relief ran through his quaking body when she took his face in her palm, her eyes melting into his. "_Trust _me."

He did, and it was as easy as that. "Oh Sybil, but wh- I thought-" The background music of joy seemed to mock their intense reunion, yet the consuming darkness had all at once made Tom realise that for this moment, however brief, they were alone. Spreading his fingers and thumbs clumsily, sceptically, over her bare thighs, he caught her eye again. "I needed to see you."

"You did the other night." Her voice came like a whisper as she seemed to edge impossibly closer against his waist, her arms rubbing his neck, and for a sharp second Tom saw her for the prostitute she was acting, and imagined paying the fee and walking through the golden door to where his fantasy could become a reality. Urgh, bad man Tom, bad man. "I saw you, under the balcony."

He took in every word, and felt a sort of unease that she had watched him walk away that night, but he also took in every sensation now riddling his body. He understood she was only with him like this to keep him disguised, to hide their secret meeting, but the pressure of her thighs against his, the rise and fall of her barely covered chest, the smell of her rich perfume, her slow breathing, and the utter presence of her, of Sybil, around him led to something he was really hoping to avoid. "_Shit_, Sybil could you get up a sec-"

"No, wait. Tom, look around. That-" She flicked her eyes downward. "-is sort of expected."

"Sybil I can't talk to you seriously if I'm like th-" He found his mouth cupped by her hand, the red ribbon on her wrist tickling his chin.

"Then don't talk, not for the moment. I'll do that part, I want to ask you about something." He sensed hesitancy in her voice, and if he wasn't red in the face enough already, even more gushing blood flooded into his cheeks at the thought she may want to talk about his confession. It was a sore spot for him, after all, it had ended in rejection. He clenched his teeth, waiting for her to speak, and was shocked when she tugged at his shirt sleeve. "About this."

Ice water swam through his veins as he tried to tear his arm away. "Syb- no- I don't-"

She kissed the small scars once, the press of her lips drew the pain he had tried to bury in the past back to the surface, and he had to look away. "Please, tell me." His resolve cracked a little as she pulled his face to hers. "I know you almost told me the other week, what difference does it make to tell me now?" He realised then, the reason she had not turned him away this evening.

God, she was too smart for her own good. "No wonder you trained to be a nurse Sybil." Questioning eyes stared back at him, and suddenly he was in that mansion again, looking down at Sybil for the first time and feeling his name fall from his lips without a seconds thought. He huffed a little air through his nose and shuffled into the sofa, sweeping his hands up to Sybil's ribs as she placed her hands firmly on his shoulders, edging closer over his lap. "Right, I'll say this quickly, cos you're right, I did have this prepared before. But-"

He felt her small fingers squeeze his shoulders. "Tell."

"Fine. I- I was a _heroin_ addict. I dabbled in drugs as a teenager, and by the age of twenty one, when I finished Uni, I started doing heroin. I started injecting not long after. And I wish I could say I had a reason, like a family tragedy driving me to darkness, but no, I was just an idiot. The next two years were the worst in my life, Sybil, you don't- you don't have a clue, _no_ idea." He bit his lip so hard it hurt. "Anyway, I tried so many times to get off, so many times. Then- Jesus- then one night, my cousin, he'd started taking about the same time I had, well he overdosed."

"You never said-" Sybil's voice came as a gasp.

"Yeah, well, I'm saying it now. Anyway, I made the 999 call, but I was so off my face they were lucky to get one clear word out of me." The words came out so bitter he was surprised he didn't choke on their acidity. "He was dead by the time they arrived. That did it, like, I knew I had to quit, if not for me, for Sean. But I couldn't wait to- to try medicine, or therapy, I wanted rid, like quick. So I got a few friends to lock me up, don't look so horrified, it happens. I got them to lock me up for a week-" He thought of the vomit, the shakes, the hightening of his screams as he cried out for a fix, and decided not to elaborate to Sybil. "-and when I came out, I was still a wreck, but I wasn't a hardcore addict." He whistled in one long blow. "Anyway, I left Ireland not long after, I needed to escape. I trained as a taxi driver in London, started counselling then and got my life on track, but I still had moments of almost relapsing. So when I met Carson, I realised it could be what I needed to finally get the drugs off my mind. Cos if your gangs opinion is the same as mine, drugs are a weakness, something we deal and sell, but not something we do. And I haven't taken a hit since."

o o o

The end of Tom's tale came all too quickly, and Sybil needed a moment to compose herself, for his story, his pained honesty, had left her a little shaken. But, realising he would require some sort of reaction, against all her reasons not to, she leant downward slightly and touched his nose with her own, sighing when he closed his eyes and ran his hands along her thighs.

They remained like that for a long moment, and though Sybil knew she was putting herself in jeopardy, she just couldn't move away, not yet. So she remained holding him close, the sounds of a trumpet solo, girls giggling, men jeering and drinks clinking the only reminder of where they really were. Though, very soon, these sounds seemed to dissolve into air as Tom slowly opened his eyes, and knowing what was coming before it did, Sybil tried to lean back.

But a forceful hand had slipped beneath her silk chemise, warm fingers splayed over her spine, and she felt the slightest, firmest nudge forward. Determind however, not to kiss him, not to go there again, she twined her own fingers into his short dark hair and angled his head against her neck. "Sorry Tom, I don't work for free."

The gruff laugh against her throat rose goosebumps all over her skin, and she felt a little ashamed of herself for pulling him closer. It was just- well- she _knew_ the effect she had over him like this, wrapped around him in so little clothing, and compared to the groping and pawing she had experienced this past fornight, having Tom with her felt so, so safe, so _right_. "Well, if I slip you a fifty can I keep you like this for a little while longer?"

"I'm only worth a fifty?" Her voice came a little breathlessly, but not in the intentional way she had so recently mastered.

Shivering slighty as one of Tom's fingers wound around a tendril of her hair, Sybil made the mistake of looking into his eyes. "I don't know what you're worth Sybil, but I do know all the money in the world wouldn't be enough to pay it."

She didn't know why those words had done it, but suddenly everything was coming back to her, _Lords and Ladies, Satan's Servants, enemies, hotel rooms, confessions, kisses, blue eyes, memories_... Easing her arms from around Tom's neck slowly in order not to provoke him to hold tighter, Sybil looked over her shoulder as she spoke. "You better go now, you've been lucky so far, but you'll- well _we'll_ be killed if Rosamund realises that you're one of Sata-"

"Felicity! Laurent has requested you." Squeezing her eyes tight shut for the briefest second, Sybil slid from Tom's lap. Oh _God_, this wasn't going to go down well, and her heart began to race at the thought. "And don't worry about this gentleman, I'll take care of him. Would that be alright Si-?

"No!" Shying her eyes a little at how loud she had spoken, Sybil turned to Tom who had gradually risen from the sofa. "Mr. Branson was just leaving."

Tripping away from Tom and from their corner as quickly as she could, her heels digging a little, Sybil literally ran into Laurent's arms, just as she had intended.

"Ahh, Fliss, my Felicity, ma chere." As the dark haired, sharp suited Frenchman ran his fingers over her cheek, Sybil twisted her tounge against her teeth to resist the urge to whip her head and bite them, hard.

"Monsieur Laurent, I didn't think you were coming to see me." It took all she had within her, as she curved her arms delicately around the French bastards neck, not to check that Tom had left. But a shadow on the very edge of her peripheral vision told her he hadn't quite reached the exit yet.

She kept her eyes purposely wide and innocent as the white shirted Laurent edged closer, licking his lips as he stared down her cleavage. Urgh, she hated him. "Why ever not fleur? In fact, I think I might want to see a lot of you tonight. How does that sound belle? Haven't you wanted to take me to your room for so long?"

The bile she had to swallow stung her throat. "Oh Monsieur Laurent do you mean it? Will you come with me?"

"I will, because you want me to, yes I will. But first, let's enjoy the evening..."

The reaction Sybil had been expecting, and dreading with every fibre of her being, did not occur until much later than she suspected. She had first assumed it would happen when Laurent had begun playing with her small, ribbon corset, edging his fingers against the prominent, roundness of her breasts. But, _nothing_. So she then endured a period of stomach knotting nervousness when her dear Frenchman asked her to play with his hair. Yet, still nothing. Though, she expected it most later, when Laurent pulled her into his lap, murmuring truly sickening things against her throat. But, once again, there came no reaction, though this time she was certain she heard a glass shatter across the room. No, nothing happened until the swooping moment when Laurent took her ribboned wrist and asked for her lead. She was only half way to the golden door when the Frenchman's hand was torn from her own.

For the fraction of a heart beat, Sybil felt a rush of relish as Tom's fist connected with Laurent's vile, carved face, but almost as quickly she felt a surge anger in her veins; Grantham was going to _kill_ her. Not being able to dwell on this thought for too long however, as Tom now had Laurent pinned to the floor and blood had began dotting the floor from some body part, his nose maybe, Sybil along with a few of the other girls in the hall, started to scream. But as word spread through the hall that a fight needed breaking up, a regular occurrence among so few beautiful women and so many desperate men, Sybil realised she had an ultimatum on her hands. In the few seconds before the men were pulled apart and taken down a few pegs, she could either beg Laurent to take her supposedly fragile, shaken state to bed, or she could drag Tom to safety, away from the Lords and Ladies den.

Tearing off her shoes, being no stranger to a fight, Sybil descended upon the writhing pair, feeling a little foolish as her thin clothing revealed her scant thong. Avoiding Tom's elbow as he drew back for another fierce blow, Sybil gripped Laurents shirt,"Au revoir!" Then turned to Tom. "For fucks sake you idiot, get through that door, before I change my mind!" Grateful that Tom was so quick off the mark and had legged it through the golden door as quick as light, Sybil turned to the screaming girls and a pummelled Laurent as security erupted around them. "He's gone, the other one's gone, legged it."

She knew she should wait around to explain to Rosamund what had gone on and to keep up her cover, but then, almost laughing with the thought, she realised the reason for her disguise was now being dragged out the brothel, so she turned and fled through the gold door. The dim light became even darker down this corrider, but running her hands along the velvet, puce walls, Sybil stumbled blindly into the room titled 'Felicity' and was not surprised to discover a panting, ruffled Irishman pacing about the small boudoir.

"Sybil, I co-"

Her fury came, in _floods_. "Tom you idiot! You _idiot_! I have been undercover for two weeks trying to get that prick into bed, and you show up and beat him senseless-"

And so did his. "I wasn't about to let you-! To get let you- _sleep_ with him. I couldn't-!"

Clawing her hair over her head, Sybil tried to keep her voice from a bats screech. "_Sleep_ with him? I told you Tom, I _told_ you, I'm not a prostitute! My God! I'm on- a- job, _was_ on a job, to knock that bastard out and cut his fucking fingers off for doing Grantham a dodgy deal! I wasn't about to screw him! Oh God, Grantham will kill me, kill me!"

A perfume bottle rollled to the floor as Tom thumped the small fireplace mantle piece with a metal fist. "How was I supposed to know that? Oh right, I couldn't have done! I had every right to beat that smarmy shit for all he's worth!"

The sweat that had gradually gathered on Sybil's forehead was swept away with a rough brush of her hand. "Every right? Every _right_? Tom you have no right to tell me what to do! No right to protect me! No right to be jealous! You- are- _nothing_- to me!"

A lengthy silence followed in which her and Tom's heavy breathing almost smothered the sound of next doors seemingly satisfied customer. Her head was spinning, barely able to keep up with all that had happened in such a short amount of time, and she fell awkwardly onto the plush, luxurious king size bed. For the first time, she realised she was shaking, and twined her fingers tightly together to control the jutting motion.

Eventually, Tom, stroking a palm down his face, cut the quiet. "Right, I'll go, I'll try to leave unnoticed-"

"No, don't do that." Her head pounded.

"I've got to. I can't stay, if they find out who I am-"

"They won't hear, not from me." She blinked in the dim glow, unwrapping her now tamed fingers. "And don't worry, fights happen in here all the time. I've seen about nine in two weeks. And you have your tat covered anyway."

"I know, but I'm going to go, there's no point in me staying." Her head now focused on the soft, red carpet, she saw his shoes edge toward the door. "Sorry- for tonight- I just- I had to see you."

The creaking of the door knob stirred her and her body felt heavy as she got to her feet, "I didn't mean that you know."

His turning form shadowed her. "What?"

Glad that she was in temporary darkness, Sybil edged a little closer to Tom, who she hadn't realised till now had torn the plaster from his neck. "I didn't mean it when I said you're nothing to me. I- I don't know what you are, but I know it isn't nothing."

The room changed then. Her admission paired with Tom's previous confession seemed to settle upon them, gradually, like the softest sequins of winter snow, and the once seedy, racy boudoir became a safe haven, guarding their secret attachment to one another from the intrusion of the world. Sybil caught an odd look in Tom's eye, a sort of intensity marred by resistance, she wondered if her own revealed the same, and the thought made her feel oddly vulnerable.

"Come here." His accent seemed thicker than usual as she allowed herself to be pulled, rather roughly, against him. Her eyes closed of their own accord at the contact, and her arms wound around Tom's warm body as his own found her hair and back. The embrace was so intense, so tension fuelled that Sybil was surprised not to see small rainbow sparks spitting from their skin. He smelt wonderful, so familiar, his touch was familiar too, hot and determined, and she was sure the taste of his kiss would come as blissful familiarity too. And as Tom was never one to hold back, she was surprised when he did not try to push his lips to her own when he leant back to look at her, speaking instead. "Two _weeks_? It's taken you two weeks to get that man into bed? Is- he- _blind_?"

A smile that brought an ache to her usually serious features spread across her face as she buried her head into his chest, her reply coming slightly muffled as a result. "He likes to think the prostitute has fallen in love with him, that way she will be one to want to go to bed rather than the other way round. Made it easy to be undercover really, a perfect excuse to turn the rest of the perverts down; I just had to tell them I'd met my prince, that I didn't want a whores life anymore and Laurent believed I meant it!"

Her body loosened a little when he buried his face in her hair, murmuring against her brown locks. "Ah right, cos I was gonna say, I'd have dragged you back here in two _seconds_." He laughed into her hair, but his words made her blush, and she snuggled a little closer. She gathered he felt this, as his hold, too, became a little stronger and she felt his fingers making small circles on her back. "I didn't like seeing him touch you."

Her heart beating a little faster than normal, her skin prickling at the feel of Tom's warm breath on her forehead, Sybil sighed. "You didn't? I would never have guessed..."

_Please Review ^^_

_I hope this made up for Sybil and Tom's separate lives last week?  
>Also, if you re-read this chapter, I really suggest playing Glen Miller's In The Mood in the background!<br>I won't type too much or I'll run late putting this chapter up. Let me know what you thought.  
>Personally, I felt like this week lasted looongg, so hopefully next Monday comes quicker...<br>(And yes, I did guest appear as a prostitute...I just wanted to touch him!)_

_www. youtube. com/watch?v=K4QOp0wBktE An amazing video by Fanfic authour (btvs) based on this chapter!_


	10. Ashamed

_Chapter Song - Ashamed by Jamestown Story_

_' Do you know what it's like, not to know what is wrong or what's right? I've been throwing away, the efforts I've made, to leave this all behind. '_

_. . . . . . . . . ._

Sybil would never be able to explain to herself what had happened between her and Tom in that embrace. Not in the moment it occured or even the morning after, during the few minutes she had to herself to think as she lay with Tom's heavy arm around her waist, his slow breathing in her hair as he slept on, her hand reaching behind to touch his face, their naked legs still tangled from the night before. All she knew, was that something _had_ happened, something neither of them had counted on or been able to control, well, she definitely hadn't anyway. And even if she had been able to, she wasn't sure she _would_ have done things any differently, no matter how wrong, how dangerous, how emotionally unveiling it had been...

But she didn't know _now_, locked in the embrace of Tom's past confession and her own, that she would feel this way tomorrow morning. Tightening her hold around his waist, gripping so tightly she knew it probably hurt, she tried to tell herself to let go, to accept his apology for beating Laurent, and that he had taken her own for calling him nothing and walk away. But her usually focused, collected mind seemed to be hazy, failing her, and Tom only allowed it to slip further in pulling her closer with the arm around her back, stroking his other palm through her hair, pressing his warm lips to her forehead, mumbling a goodbye to her with no real effort.

His strong hold on her revealed to her how weak, exhausted and drained she was, for in his arms she felt better, though honestly she hadn't known there was anything wrong to begin with. But having him hold her, she realised she was tired of calculating everything between them and felt as though the wall she had so desperately tried to keep up between them had crumbled to dust. The tumbled fragments of this wall dancing across her mind were perhaps the reason that when she finally broke her hold on him, it was only to lean back to look into his eyes.

She had always noticed the wonderful colour of his ice chip irises, but she had never fully appreciated how he was able to turn such a cold blue into the warmest of gazes, until now that was. It was odd, but it was as though they saw her, properly, saw who she was, saw Sybil. When her stomach swooshed with this thought, she ran her hands across his body as she moved them from his waist to cup his neck, stroking her thumbs softly over his pulse point. She marvelled at how it seemed to be rushing at such a rate while his breathing still seemed perfectly steady. A talent aquired when committing burglaries maybe? Hiding from police? Stalking a target?

Then her heart clenched, she had _never_ felt this way before. Saying that in her head sounded odd, dramatic even, like a quote from a film, but it was true, she couldn't deny it; she _needed_ him. Yet her need didn't mean she couldn't evaluate the effect this would have on both of them. It would be wrong, so, _completely_ wrong. Any kiss they had ever shared had torn the borders, any touch given had come at a cost of guilt and disloyalty, but this, _this_ would smash the barriers down like they never had before.

_Urgh_, she was sick of this, of herself. Why did she have to over think everything? Maybe this- this was necessary to finally close things between them. And who would have to know? She trusted him didn't she? And right now she wanted Tom to kiss her so badly it was hurting, _hurting_, and here she was worrying about even more pain than she was now suffering in simply waiting for him to show her he wanted her too. He'd certainly never had a problem before, but maybe he, like her, was considering what could, what _was_, going to happen tonight and did not know how to begin.

So, she leant forward and brushed quaking lips against a stubbled jaw, noticing with a swirl in her gut that Tom closed his eyes as she did so. She kissed his face again, lingering slightly longer than before and bringing one hand from his neck to press her fingertips into the opposite cheek, creating four pools of shadow on his face. His next move was unexpected and entirely overpowering. As she kissed his jaw, closer to his ear this time, he ran the hand from her hair down her arm and pulled away the fingers on his cheek, kissing them tenderly, one by one, before ending with a final stroke of his tongue to her palm.

Needless to say she was slightly breathless when he finished and moved both his hot hands to her thighs, gathered up the silk of her slip, his thumbs searching her burning, smooth skin, and placed a firm hold on her hips. In the second they found her warm, toned waist she lowered another kiss to his neck, her lips firm on his searing skin. She smiled, still pressed to his thumping pulse when she felt him inhale a deep breath, clearly attempting to keep pointlessly calm. _Pointlessly_ because with her next kiss she opened her mouth against his neck, running her tounge over his skin, sucking hard enough, she knew, to leave a small red mark and she felt his knees jut out briefly as he struggled to stand.

She hadn't really noticed her eyes had fluttered shut until she opened them and found herself facing a dark stream of lurid black ink, etched violently into an SS mark. The sight of one these tattoo's usually set her blood boiling with hate, now the sight created a calm in her; if she could come this close to the utter proof of who Tom was and not want to leave, then surely, _surely_, she was making the right decision.

Tracing the design with her tongue then licking his neck with another eager dragging kiss, she tried to ignore his hands running higher and higher above her waist beneath her dress, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts, so that she could stay focused. She pulled away and ran one hand down to his chest, the other still against his neck where she pressed, with purpose, her swirled LL tattoo to his own stamped SS. She wasn't sure how long she had been staring at the joining of the two inked designs, but it must have been long enough for Tom to notice her sudden stillness in his arms.

He broke the silence, but not the moment, with a low whisper, his fingers digging into her prickled body. "You know-" He kissed her temple with a feather light brush that made her entire body tighten with expectancy. "-you can have them removed nowadays."

"But-" She mouthed the small dip where his neck met his chest, a scent of natural sweat and the caramelised aroma of cannabis on his skin. "-they're permanant-" All eight of her fingers were now in his hair, her small nails gently tugging at his scalp, her thumbs stroking the tips of his ears. "-aren't they?"

She groaned faintly as he ran a palm between her legs, pushing upwards against her slightly. The touch was so soft that she was sure she wouldn't have known it had a tingle of utter pleasure not just swept through her veins. "Na, they can be erased for good."

"Can't be easy though." Was all she could manage in reply as she pressed her full body against his, tightening her hold of his hair whilst letting out the slightest choke of relief that the line had been crossed as he nimbly moved aside her underwear and slid a finger inside of her, moving torturously slow.

"Yeah, it's tricky." He had her against the boudoir wall now, insistent lips at her throat, a warm tongue making small designs on her neck, a trembling palm slipping into her corset, continued intimate touching making her pant with desire. "Takes time." Her hips were moving instinctively against his fingers, for there were two now, as they curled within her and she was sure her legs would give way at any moment, the sensation weakening. "But- if it's what you want, then it must be worth it for- for the end result right?"

"I-" She could barely breathe, her only goal being to pull him closer, aching for his full body against her own as she dragged cupped hands beneath his collar, her eyes rolling a little. "I guess, but what if you- _Tom_- regret getting rid of it?"

"Well-" A rough gasp replaced whichever word he had intended to continue with.

Pleased she was now not the only one entirely breathless from lust, Sybil slipped a hand into Tom's trousers, taking hold of the erection she had felt hard against her since she had first smoothed her tongue along his neck and began moving her hand up and down just that bit _too_ slow, treating him to a taste of the sweet torture he was giving her. "Mmm?"

"_Jesus_." He withrew his hands from between her legs and from within her chemise to splay both palms against the wall, pressing his forehead on her own as she quickened her rhythmic rubs of his rigid length, his eyes tight shut. "Well- I suppose you- _fuck_- get it back. But would you want it? _Really_? After what you- _Syb_- went through to leave it behind?"

They were falling onto the bed now, Tom having swept her into a straddling hold before lowering her to the fur duvet, his shoes thudding to the floor. Sybil's hands tore open his belt with a heavy clink, shivering as his palms smoothed down the soft expanse of her thighs, hitching them up either side of his waist. She then began twiddling open his shirt buttons, desperately fast so as to spread her palms on his solid chest, and murmured a response. "You can't know unless- unless you-"

"Go for it? I quite agree." The glint in his eye at these final words brought a surge of yearning to the back of her throat; a painful, throbbing ache.

And as if he had felt it too, he finally, _finally_, met her lips with his own. She craved a full, deep, urgent kiss, but Tom simply gave light continuous brushes as he slipped off her underwear with one had, sliding a finger inside of her once again with the other, the frantic friction maddening.

She thought she would scream if he didn't move inside of her fully soon. She had never had a man hold so much power over her before; it was thrilling, erotic and _furiously_ frustrating. So when Tom finally withdrew from her again, his wet fingers caressing her inner thigh, she wasted no time in ripping off his shirt, tugging away his trousers and boxers while his teeth grazed various spots of her bristling skin. She then felt a surge of satisfaction at having manged to strip him naked so quickly.

So caught up in the toned body of muscles she had revealed, scratching her nails gently across his tight abs, Sybil barely noticed Tom loosening her ribbon corset, and gently easing the silk from her body. In fact, she only realised her sudden naked state as the moment the chemise was torn from beneath her and flung across the room his mouth came down swiftly to one of her exposed breasts, sending chills up and down her bowed spine with each careful drag of his tongue while the _rest_ of his body ground against her.

This wasn't funny anymore. "Tom ple- Tom just- _Oh Tom_."

One hand fisted in his hair, the other in a bundle of sheets, Sybil wrapped her pale, trembling legs around Tom's waist as he eased inside of her, her body entirely under his power. Over and over he pushed, harder each time. He made a rumbling growl at the back of his throat with each electrifying thrust and she was swiftly gliding her tongue into his mouth, moaning herself at his luxurious, longed for response.

Their kissing was messy and passionate; tounges over lips, lips finding skin, and every now and then she would have to pull away entirely as she lost her head a little, the heat and bliss of his deep gyrating rendering her mindless. Tom wouldn't allow their kiss to break for long however, reclaiming her mouth with a tug of her tangled hair the moment he was able to catch a seconds breath, and she felt so wanted, so _desired_ because of this that she kissed back that much harder, slipping to taste the spot on his neck she knew drove men wild.

"Oh _God_ Syb-."

Delirious. That was simply the only way to describe her state of mind. There was nothing, _nothing_ else but Tom; his damp body, his ruffled hair, his soft tongue, his... He was _so_ good and she was sure he knew it, for every time she made the slightest whimper as his clever hands massaged her breasts or impulsive jerk beneath him as he ran his rough thumbs over their pink tips, his persistent lips would curve into the shadow of a smirk against her own. But even through her delirious haze of pleasure and magnifying intensity, Sybil was able to scratch up the firm, rippling muscles on his back as he rocked and rolled sensually within her, coming to rest with her nails digging into his shoulders from behind, pulling him so close as she arched her back that she could barely breathe.

"_Yes_ Tom, y-Tom-"

After however long she didn't know, and though she guessed it had been a while it just _wasn't_ long enough, she wanted more, _more_, but she felt her body tighten, begin to quiver and tremble with each lift of her hips and forceful push of Tom's. Everything was suddenly harder and urgent, her eyes were flickering, he was grunting, she was gasping, faster and _closer_, her hand reached out blindly for the headboard, his own dragged down her stomach, catching on her belly bar, between them with seeking fingers, there came a rough demand for her eyes, dark blue met icy- Then she was gone, completely, utterly, entirely _gone_.

Letting go with what she knew to be a cry of his name, as she could feel the vibration of her shout on the back of her throat, she let her head loll roughly back against the mattress. The coil of ecstasy within her unravelled so violently that each limb felt shocked with pleasure. And as she came down from this white lit high, she felt a tell tale nudge of pressure, heard a groaned, heady version of her name against her throat and it wasn't long before Tom came down like her, on her, breathless and gulping, before rolling onto his back beside her into the ocean of velvet.

A minute passed in harsh breathlessness before Sybil felt a creeping, gentle weight down her arm and then her fingers were entwined with Tom's.

o o o

Tom gave her hand a squeeze, hoping that for now, in the few moments of shock and satisfaction preventing him from speech, that this would fill in the words he wanted to say. He could say them in his head perfectly though, _That was something else, Stay with me, I lov_-, no, surely _that_ one was just the classic knee-jerk reaction?

He couldn't believe what had just happened. In fact, if it wasn't for a few stray strands of Sybil's hair tickling his neck, the soft weight of her leg against his, or the warmth of her hand he was certain he would have convinced himself that he had just woken from the best dream in his life.

It had been the way she had looked at him that had brought this on, he had never seen her look like that. As she had pulled away from his hold, gazing into his eyes so intently, he had known then, that she needed him, actually _needed_ him. And who was he to let her down? He gave a small chuckle at this thought, why was he trying to act the player, he had been absolute putty in her hands.

His breathing had returned now, his pulse still heightened, but not at the high level it had been, so cautiously, because he was scared of her reaction, he turned to face her. Stunned, he was stunned to find she was already looking at him, and he wondered how long for. He tried to gauge her reaction, tried to find the look of dismay in her eyes at her actions. Instead he found a blank canvas, wide eyes, closed lips and he decided to change them for the better, he wouldn't allow her to think of disloyalty right now.

He reached out blindly for the fur duvet he knew to be someone on the bed, and finding it, he rolled over, hovering above her on his elbows, and dragged the material over his back, exhaling as his sweat cooled skin touched her own. Scarcely believing he was able to, Tom pressed his lips to hers, trembling a little at the memories of a few minutes ago this contact brought. He continued kissing her lightly, quick smudging of lips, until he felt her arms twine around his neck, the glorious pressure of her breasts on his chest, then he slid his tounge against her own. They kissed slowly for a while, her silky tounge running along his just as soft inner lip, and Tom felt his heart literally stop when her lips curled into a smile against his own.

She pulled away, twisting what Tom was pleased to see, a still smiling pout. "Tom?"

"Mmm?" Was all he could manage, as he remembered with a jolt that she last spoke his name to ask him- beg him to- His murmured response clearly hadn't satisfied her as she did not continue. And he meant to hint her along, he really did, but his eyes had just raked down her body and he found himself running his lips along her collar bone, lower to the side of her full, perfect breast.

"Tom?" Her voice was a little raspy from his delicate caresses to her body and he could not help placing an open mouth kiss to her top rib to excite her further. "I killed a man."

He squeezed his eyes tight shut for the fraction of a second; he knew what was coming. And he wasn't surprised, really, that her vulnerability was at an all time high in the situation they were in. And he wanted her to know, that whatever she was about to confess, or tell, or reveal would be listened to, properly, and not just because they had just had sex, _incredible _sex, or because he wanted information for his side, but simply because he cared, really cared. So, he stopped his light exploration of her body and returned to locking her eyes with his own. "Go on."

"I know that it doesn't- it doesn't seem surprising for someone like us- I mean, well we all kill don't we? It's what we do? But I-" She took a deep breath and squirmed beneath him, leaning against him with one side of her body in what he took as a hint that she wanted to lay on top of him.

He complied instantly, laying back on the mattress, pulling her across his bare chest and tilting her chin so she looked directly down at him. "Don't stop."

The veil of her dark hair fell either side of his face as she continued."I get panic attacks because- I killed someone. And I don't, I don't _think_ I regret killing him because- because he would have killed me first if he had the chance, it's just-"

Five minutes passed in which Tom simply let Sybil gaze down at him, focusing with misty eyes on his eyebrows as she ran her thumbs over them again and again. He could have laid like that all night, but he knew that he needed to get her talking again, that helping to get this dark secret off her chest would do her good. "Sybil?"

Her name was all it took. "It's just I didn't think I was capable of doing something like that. I'd hurt people, badly, before, but I don't think I ever realised what it _meant_ to take someones life, to see it fade from their- their eyes because I wanted it to... And since that night I've- I've replayed the moment I pulled the trigger so many times in my head I'm not even sure what really happened anymore."

He could tell, just by her sudden silence that she had said all she was going to say. Her pain was written all over her face and if he looked close enough into her dark eyes he was sure that he would be able to see the ghostly image of the night she spoke of as though he had been there himself. "I won't say too much, but I know bad people Sybil. _Really_ bad people. In fact, I'm sure between us we know more bad people than Strangeways. And because I know really bad people, I know you aren't one of them. I don't know the details of what happened- No, you don't have to tell me- but I'd bet my life that you had no choice but to do what you did."

His stomach felt a dip as she gave a slight nod. "Have you..?"

"Yes, yes I have. Two people. Both times were gang beatings though, so I can't be sure I struck the killing blow, but I know I helped." He cringed a little as he finished speaking. His tone had been harsh and he wasn't sure if it had been the right confession for him to make in the circumstances. And he felt an odd blush of embarrassment on his cheeks; here he was without a care in the world that he may have taken two lives, yet Sybil couldn't handle a murder of self defence.

His worry had been unnecessary however as Sybil dragged her body fully on top of his, pushing her nose against his, whispering so quietly it came out as a breath."You're not a bad person either Tom."

And then they were kissing again, her hands in his hair and his own running down the shadowed dip of her spine. When his palms came to a rest at the small curve at the top of her thighs, he couldn't help but turn her over, it was something in his subconscious to do with showing her he could be the man, the protecter, _strange_.

After a little while her fingertips came up to their joint mouths, pushing against his chin lightly and he pulled away just so the slightest sliver of their lips still touched. "Make me smile Tom. Tell me something funny. I don't want to fall asleep with, well with what just talked about- Make me smile."

Fall alseep? She wanted to sleep next to him? In bed with him? Well, that was _his_ smile sorted. "Hmm, well there are various ways I could go about this."

Already he saw the ghost of a grin on her face. "Is that so?"

"Yup, I could take the old story approach and tell you about the time back in Ireland when I had to have the fire brigade cut me out of the metal railings my head was stuck in-"

He had to pause for her giggles and could not help but notice how her moving form beneath him started to stir a natural burn within him. She brought a palm up to her now pushed together lips, mumbling through. "You must have been so scared! What were you? Three? Four?"

"Try _twenty_-three and a night on the town." He couldn't help but laugh himself this time, and if he hadn't been nuzzling her neck he would have noticed that it was his own laugh that had set the smile on her face.

"Another approach?"

"Ahh now this one is my weakest one. I was going to try a joke. But I can't think of a single one, and in all honesty do jokes ever really make people laugh?" He kissed her. "Oh actually, have you heard the one about the gangster that walked into the brothel?" He curved an eyebrow at her which, God he felt like a such a crushing schoolboy, made her lips do the the same.

"Shut up! But you're probably right. And there's another?" Her eyes widened a little with curiosity.

How was he going to get out of this one without making an absolute fool of himself? "Well, you see, there's little point in me telling you the third, because from what I can see, you're smiling already." So she puts on a pout? Great. "_Fine_. The third, well the third is the compliment technique. I tell you that-" Fucking hell,_ just do it_. "- that you are, without doubt, the most beautiful, special, perfect woman I have ever met, and no matter what we might think- or feel tomorrow- I won't regret tonight because- because it was probably one of the best of my life." She didn't respond. "That's it. I'm, umm, I'm all out of techniques."

He couldn't look at her, not anymore, not now he had just said that. He had meant it all, of course, he just couldn't bare with her big, dark, agonisingly unreadable eyes sweeping over each detail of his face. So, slowly, he moved from his position above her and lay beside her for a moment, thinking it was odd that she hadn't yet left the bed. But then she turned, and he clenched his eyes closed for the moment the loss of the pressure of her weight would bounce the matress. It didn't. Instead, she had turned, not to the side where she could slip out, but toward his, where she reached out a hand, and dragged his arm over her waist. He gulped as she pulled her against him, spooning her full body, pushing his face, which Sybil had now reached behind to stroke, into her dark pool of hair.

"Sweet dreams." His hope for her.

"I promise." Her assurance his wish would be so.

o o o

It was barely a few hours later, after the moon had dissolved and the sun risen, not that it made any difference in the boudoir, when Tom woke with red tinged, fluttering eyelids. He knew straight away he was alone, well, in the bed anyway, for he could hear Sybil stepping about the room. Very slowly, he opened his eyes slightly to look upon the now dressed beauty fastening her corset. And as he looked her up and down, imagining all that lay beneath her clothing with no need for false images, he chose not to make his awoken state known to her. Why? Because he had suddenly realised, with a sickening thud in his gut, that he had _lied_ to her. He had told her he wouldn't regret last night, but he did, he _really_ did. Because now, watching her elegant form trip about the room, she was suddenly capable of taking care of herself, she wasn't the same person in need of his comfort as she had been in his arms last night. They had gone to bed as Sybil and Tom, but had awoken as Lady and Servant. And when she reached out for the door, clinging tightly to the handle, he knew she felt regret also. The thought made him so sad all of a sudden he almost called out for her, but then-

"I couldn't stop." Her voice shook.

He opened his eyes wide and edged onto his elbows. "Me neither."

The pause was only three seconds long, but it felt a life time. "But now we have to."

"I know-" His swallow was so tense it could be heard. "-but I wish we didn't."

When she turned to look at him it was like the rest of the universe fell away. Who was he kidding? He didn't regret what they had _done_, he regretted what they _were_. "In another life, huh?"

He could only nod in reply; there were no words to answer such a question as that.

She turned and stepped out the door then, into the real world, before firmly closing it on theirs.

_Please, Allen Leech-naked-in bed, Review ^^_

_As I write this, it is the evening I revealed the last chapter. Yep, I've been working on this one for weeks! And I hope...hehehe...you liked it.  
>The song for this chapter is a favourite of mine, so give it a listen =)<br>Oh and by next Monday could I have 100 reviews? I like being spoiled! Pretty please?_


	11. You Could Be Happy

_Chapter Song - You Could Be Happy by Snow Patrol_

_'Most of what I remember makes me sure, I should have stopped you from walking out the door'_

_. . . . . . . . . ._

"Do you know what today is Tom?"

Tilting his chin so as to get a better angle of his neck in the mirror, Tom tugged at his tie. "Mmm?"

"Today-" Bare footsteps padded across the floor towards him, small feminine hands wrapped around his waist. "-is our one month anniversary."

As smiling lips nuzzled his neck, Tom ran his thumbs beneath his collar, examining his now clothed state with angled eyes. When he was sure he was dressed to standard, he let his eyes slip to the woman resting on his shoulder. Had it really been that many weeks since he had made love to Sybil? Since he had taken her in his arms, caressed, tasted, explored every inch of her perfect, _gorgeous_ body? So many weeks since he had laid beside her, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her skin as he kept his eyes open as long as possible to protect her from tortured dreams? That many days since she had cried out his name, her eyes locked with his, until she too, tipped him over the edge? A whole _five _weeks?

Disentangling from the arms around him, red hair falling from his shoulders, Tom turned around and offered a forced smile. "Well then, happy anniversary Gwen. Now get dressed, Carson wants to see us in an hour."

o o o

It was odd, really, to watch the new girl working beside her. Had she ever been so timid, so clumsy? Maybe. Fair enough, she had never been as aware of the world as she was now. Had never known to successfully follow a target you had to be blatant about it; no one looked out for someone who wasn't hiding. Hadn't understood that confidence was your only allie; even if it was a figure of your imagination. Had certainly not known how to channel the fear for your life into the want for another's. And it was clear, as she watched her strawberry blonde accomplice skitt across the opposite street, that she had yet to learn any of this.

After Sybil watched the new girl lose her third target, she decided enough was enough and crossed the road, earning an appreciative beep from a white van, and up to the confused new girl, indicating the nearest Starbucks. "Look Lavinia, let's take a break."

Ten minutes later, the complaints of London traffic, the hum of ringing phones and the continuous tapping of laptop keys shrouded the conversaion between the two gang members.

"I am trying, honestly." Came the mousy voice of Sybil's accomplice.

"I know, I've told you Lavinia, it's alright _trying _but say those targets I set you to follow weren't just members of the public? Say they were a job, someone we needed to track, or an enemy we needed information on and you lost them? Either way you would be dead, by Grantham's hand or a Servants."

Her accomplice remained silent, staring blankly into her cappuccino as Sybil looked upon her with harsh eyes. It was wrong to be impatient, she knew that, after all, Lavinia's joining was like the birth of a baby into a family. Yet, she was certian when a normal family welcomed a new arrival, they weren't doing it as a punishment for not having mutilated a target whilst disguised as a prostitute...

Unfortunately, those _were _the terms of her family, even though it had been a full five weeks since that night- _day_, that day she had had to tell Grantham. He was not often a violent man, well not to his team, but she could still feel the back of his hand against her braced cheekbone as though it were yesterday. See, this was the problem with being an elite of the gang, the higher you were, the further there was to fall.

Twisting her jaw ever so slightly at the shame of her current babysitting role, Sybil barely listened to a word Lavinia was saying so simply nodded a one word reply where she felt necessary. "But Sybil, I could have sworn Satan's Servants wore SS tattoos on their neck?"

Her attention was drawn, and she felt a sudden need disperse the image of Tom's, _Tom's_, own stamp so close to her face she could reach out and taste it, did taste it, had tasted it... "They do."

"But you just said- But I saw- But Sybil, one just walked past!"

The crash of Sybil's chair hitting the coffee splashed laminate floor fell on deaf ears; the shouts of ten word orders and the screams of a child whose parents had clearly only conceived it because it was the 'done thing' smothered the loud smack. Even Sybil herself did not hear it, suddenly too aware of her exicted heartbeat and racing pulse. She needed this, needed to do something worthwhile, needed a little buzz, needed to prove to herself that her hate for the SS was still alive and had survived the night her heart hadn't.

Clicking along the cobbled streets toward Covent Garden Market, Sybil suddenly realised her chance to put Lavinia to use, make her seem more ready for this than she really was and have Grantham take her off her hands. "What did they look like Lavinia?"

"Uh she-"

"She?" Sybil's well trained eye suddenly eliminated all the men around the market.

"Yes, she was wearing a red suit-"

Like a trail of toppling dominoes, anyone wearing anything but red fell from Sybil's view. "And? Lavinia! And?"

Her stuggling accomplice seemed unable to keep up with Sybil's pace whilst thinking of details and panted a little with her reply. "Gin- ginger hair."

There went the brunettes. And the blondes. And- Gotcha. "Right Lavinia listen-" She grabbed her suddenly over eager accomplice by the shoulders, feeling almost softened at the flash in her eyes; she could relate to that excitement all too well. "-we'll follow her, if we're lucky she'll go home. Information like that is-"

"-priceless to Grantham, I know. Sybil she's going!" If Lavinia wasn't let out of the starting gate soon, Sybil knew she would ruin this, not just for herself, but both of them. For not only was this Sybil's chance to redeem her failure, it was also Lavinia's to prove to Grantham that she wasn't only useful for the fraud and political scandal that had earned her her place, but for real action too.

"Okay, let's go."

The two women, the amateur and the professional, followed their assailant at a brisk pace, and Sybil tried to determine which category the target came under. Ethel was very good at her job, but there was something about the way the woman walked that told her it was not she. So instead she assumed that this was not an experienced SS member, someone more recent, someone who- Gwen. Yes, her name was Gwen. And- and _his_ name, the man who had just appeared at Gwen's, what a horrible name, side, the man who had just placed his palm delicately on her lower back, who had leaned in to whisper something in her ear, who had accepted her advance and met her lips with his own, well his name was Tom.

How Sybil managed to continue walking, to put one foot infront of the other on the tumbling cobbles, to keep following them, her and _him_, when all she wanted, needed, was to turn around and run away as fast as she could, she would never know. The pace of her racing heart felt painful, as though someone had replaced her beating, red lifeline with a dead, heavy boulder, the weight agonizingly consuming.

The blood pounding through her veins was so loud, so dull, that the sounds surrounding her, the beeping of cars and shouts of pedestrians, were cut off entirely. She wanted more than anything, _anything_, to look away, but at the same time her eyes seemed unable to tear from the now laughing couple. A fire swelled painfully in her stomach as she witnessed Gwen look up at- at Tom, a grin on her face at having made him smile. Did she make him happy? Was he always smiling around her? Laughing like that? The fire burned.

Crossing a few roads blind, her veins pulsing, her eyes stinging, her throat tight, Sybil nearly had to answer to Lavinia when she gave an obvious gag; for Gwen had just reached out, fingers splayed, to twine her hand with Tom's. Sybil was almost glad of the excuse to turn to Lavinia and tell her to keep focused, and it didn't matter that she felt ill, getting passed it was part of the job.

Looking back at the pair, the _lovers_; her gag was more subtle this time, she noticed that their hands were not entwined, just held together. Her mind fazed. Was that how Tom liked to hold hands? With a vice hold rather than a twined grip? Did he not like to wrap his fingers around another's? She thought back to the night of the fire, when he had laced his hand with hers, to that night, _the_ night, when he had fallen beside her, reaching out clumsily to stitch their palms together, and felt her knees knock.

Wiping the sweat glistening in the creases of her hands down her skirt, Sybil lowered her head as she tried to take hidden, deep breaths, her chin almost at her chest. She felt blessed that Lavinia was so focused and clearly believed her to be the same, as she could not help but feel as though every pair of eyes around them was upon her. And why wouldn't they be? Surely the utter pain, the downright agony rippling beneath her skin must be visable?

When the two SS members slipped into a crowd, Sybil and Lavinia's surveillance was broken for a moment. And during the few minutes in which the four eyes whizzed about the crowd like a suddenly childless mother, Sybil found that the locked and bolted door in her mind, the one entrapping the secret of her and Tom's night together, had flown open, the heavy chains shattering into nothingness.

She could hear his voice, rough and gasping, could feel his touch, soft and weakening, could see his eyes, lit and demanding. She thought of the two men she had bedded since that night, and remembered how they too had beseeched her gaze as they brought her to the edge. Yet, their intentions had been entirely different from Tom's, she was sure of it. While they had wanted self satisfaction, wanted to see what they had brought her to, Tom had looked at her to- to be _with_ her, to see that they were in it together. All too severely her heart clenched with the thought that he must now share the same with Gwen.

"Sybil! There! Going down-"

"Shh, _Jesus_. Keep quiet, keep moving." She was surprised she could even speak through her inner turmoil, especially now Tom had his arm around the bitch redheads shoulder, hers draped around his waist, clawing his jacket.

The rest of the journey could only have taken five more minutes, but to Sybil it felt like an eternity; for every time Gwen simpered or Tom adjusted his arm, a surge of bile would rise in her throat, burning her from the inside. Her joy at having discovered a Servant's home was virually non-existant, there seemed no room for pride in her misery induced body right now.

Her partner however appeared to have excitement enough for the two of them. "We found a Satan's Servants home. Sybil we need to get as much detail about the place as we c-"

"I know." Sybil spat. "I know. Look, you go down that alley there, it must come out back, check out any entrance points, I'll go behind that car, I want to see if- if..." The corners of her lips tightened as she watched Gwen run a hand down Tom's jeans as he fiddled frantically with the key in the door. The redheads wicked grin caused Sybil's mouth to tremble, but it was only when the wretched bitch began mouthing Tom's neck that she felt the snap.

"Syb-?" Pleased Lavinia had cut her call short, Sybil continued her run toward the alley, her movements as swift and fluid as a fox.

Reaching out a palm to the arch of the alleyway, Sybil cringed as her nails scratched along the grey brittle stone. She stumbled slightly as her stiletto clad legs shook, and before she knew it she was knelt on the cobbled floor, her skirt blackened with London grime, her knees stinging from the force of the collapse. One palm gripping the stone wall, she attempted to stand, but then the back of her other shaking hand came to her quivering lips and then she was sobbing, no tears, only uncontrollable gasps of misery.

How had this happened? How was she here? _The_ Sybil Crawley, fierce member of Lords and Ladies, a crumpled, defeated mess? She had tried, _God_ she had tried to put him out of her mind, to forget the way he had made her feel that night. But even then she had just found herself facing other memories she had forgetten existed; bottles of beer, a sharp tuxedo, a furious struggle. It was as though it had taken the complete acceptance that they could not be together to make her realise how deep her feelings had become for him. She had tried to tell herself that it was just the want of the forbidden, the crave for what you couldn't have, but at the same time she could not help feeling that the 'other life' they had spoken of could have been _so_ happy, such a contrast to the one in which they were not to be.

Would he be taking Gwen's clothes off now? Kissing her skin? Stroking her hair? She retched loudly, no longer in sight of any over bearing stares, Lavinia clearly thinking they had swapped roles and would now be hidden behind the car. Would she be under him now? Her hands running down his back? Did he think she was better? Did he want her _more_? She took a deep breath and held it, willing herself not to vomit. How could the man who had seemed willing to risk so much for her, the man who had put her above his safety, suddenly not care anymore? Suddenly want someone else? Have someone else...

After two minutes of eye watering thoughts, of sick, poisonous strands of imagination, Sybil's heart began to calm, the clenching feeling loosening just enough for her to breath. And just when she thought she would take another minute before attempting to stand, a familiar voice screamed somewhere close, and the sound of running heels could be heard along the pavement. Jumping to her unsteady feet, her head dizzy, infected with all the envious venom travelling throughout her body, Sybil leant against the wall as a hurried Lavinia sprinted past and down the alley.

The startled young woman shouted over her shoulder as she ran. "She saw me- I'm not armed- but she- she must be- She's coming-"

_She's _coming? Slipping off her shoes, Sybil took a deep breath and slid a hand down her skirt, skimming her fingers over the blade against her thigh.

o o o

Well, that had never happened before. Usually when Gwen decided she wanted him, she _had_ him. She didn't shout 'LL hoe' and leg it out the door. But knowing there was probably just cause to her actions, Tom began tugging his jeans up from his ankles desperately, then dashed into the hall to retrieve his quickly discarded shoes. Once he felt fit for whatever was coming, he flung open the front door, taking the following steps two at a time before coming to a stop on the strangely quiet London street. Whipping his head from left to right in panic, he honed in his sense of sound to track his girlfriend, he supposed it was about time he called her that, and the LL she had obviously spotted through the window. That was when he heard the voice, _her_ voice.

Blood cold, body heavy, Tom's feet seemed to act of their own accord as they ran wildly toward the alley he and Gwen had quite recently violated, and stopped so suddenly at what he saw that the breath was temporarily snatched from his lungs.

Rolling around on the grey stone floor, Sybil and Gwen tore at each other like two lionesses locked in battle of claws and wild lashing. Infact, had Tom not been associated with both of them in the most intimate way, he was sure he wouldn't have been able to tells who's limbs were who's. As it was however, he knew the slender leg, torn and bloody at the knee to be Sybil's, while the freckled ribs exposed in the struggle were most definitely Gwen's. They however, seemed to have taken no notice of his presence whatsoever, both smacking ferociously at one another, their hands twisted to expose their talons.

Still trying to figure out what the fuck to do, Tom blanched a little as he spotted a twist of red hair on the cobbles then glanced at the blood trickling down Gwen's face as her and Sybil flailed into a muddy puddle. He spat against the wall and rubbed his damp palms together as he prepared to go in. He wasn't nervous at breaking up the fight, even though he had probably never seen any women fight quite so viciously before, no, it was the worry about who he would find himself protecting once he tore them apart.

Obviously, his Satan's Servants status and newly given boyfriend title would dictate he go to Gwen's aid, but his, well his _heart_ told him that no matter how much he tried not to, he would end up defending Sybil. And that- well that would not go down well in the slightest.

Realising he needed to jump in now, for Gwen had just slammed Sybil so hard against the wall that he heard an audible thump, Tom jumped forward, summoning all his strength as he took hold of a handful of red material while pushing against a crumpled layer of blue. Sybil flipped over onto her back at his shove, blood seeping from her lip, as he pulled a thrashing Gwen to her feet and closed his eyes tight for a moment so as to avoid the temptation of switching sides.

He flicked his tounge out to remove a strand of copper hair that had stuck to his lip as he tightened his hold on Gwen's waist. "You fucki- Bitch- You _stupid_ LL bit-"

"Jesus Gwen-" He dug he fingers tighter against her skin.

"Who do you- do you think- _you_- you are?" Her scream was so loud her voice tore a little. "Who do you and that other little- little bitch think-?"

Realising her strength, Tom spun Gwen around so abruptly she fell from his arms and back to the ground. She gave a startled cry as she hit the floor, and as Tom reached out to calm her, he saw a flicker of silver in his peripheral vision.

"I swear-" Sybil's voice came huskier than usual, blood clearly muting her speech, as she got to her feet, a surprisingly steady hand holding out a glimmering knife. "-I will kill you."

The blaze in her eyes left him in no doubt of her words and he knew he had to get Gwen out of there. But as he gradually moved closer to the now silent redhead, Tom realised his heart was winning the battle against his head. He wanted Gwen to leave because he was worried a fight would ensue again, and that the blade could be turned upon Sybil, not because he was worried for his girlfriends safety. He nearly laughed at the utter absurdity, wasn't he allowed one day of peace, one day of clarity?

Reaching behind him, his eyes never leaving the gradually advancing flick knife, he patted blindly for Gwen. Feeling her hand touch his, he pulled her up behind him, stepping back slightly as a wild looked passed Sybil's eyes. "Gwen, go. You said there was another one? Is that what you just said?"

Her breath came a little tight behind him, clearly a result of her swallowed ferocity. "Yes but I-"

"No, go. I don't-" He hesitated for half a second. "-want you hurt. I'm armed, now go see if you can find the other one. If she ran, she won't have any protection on her."

When Gwen placed a trembling kiss to the back of his neck before retreating, he felt his heart plummet with an unexplained guilt; such an action infront of Sybil felt like, like _cheating_, like betrayal, yet the woman he was actually seeing felt like the mistress.

A minute passed in a heavy silence. Tom was surprised when Sybil did not lower the knife immediately, thinking that she had meant only Gwen when she had threatened to kill. His worries were not solid though, no, for he could not help but notice, that Sybil, like him, appeared slightly stunned to be in one another's presence once again. He could tell, from the look in her x-ray eyes, that her mind too was experiencing a certain collection of painful flashbacks.

It was the small details that had him transfixed; her messy hair, just as he had seen it last, her blue coat, the colour of the silk he had peeled from her skin, the quick rise and fall of the chest he had pressed his own against. He thought of all the nights he had spent with Gwen since, and felt a now all too familiar pang of guilt that he had fallen into a sick fantasy each time; a fantasy in which the hair he buried his face into was dark, not red, that the eyes he looked into were a beautiful blue, not hazel, and the form moving beneath him fit perfectly, was not just there.

"Tom?" Now that- _that_ was just cruel. Of all the words he could have heard from her lips after all this time, why did it have to be his name?

Swallowing with purpose, trying to keep back all the things he wanted to say, he simply looked steadily forward. "Sybil?"

His chest tightened when she knelt before him, letting the blade roll from her palm to the floor before rising again. "I- I really wish that- that when I saw you next I would- Well, look a little better than this."

He shoved his hands into his pockets as he felt his lips tighten in a smirk. How was that possible? Here they were, Lady and Servant, hidden in an alleyway in which he had just torn her from the most ferocious of fights, a knife spread between them, yet he was smiling? "You look fine." Her eyes flickered to his, so he looked downward.

"Do you want to make sure of that?" There was slight catch to Sybil's voice that had him feeling wary, but the invite to look at her was just something he could not pass up taking again.

Lifting his eyes from the puddle strewn stone, he grimaced a little when he saw the murky water patched here and there on Sybil's clothing, her tight skirt bunched slightly on one side, a little blood on the collar of her ruffled coat and the dark make-up on one eye running down her face like a- like a tear. "You look _very_ fine."

Her next words, and actions, sent Tom's mind spinning. Stepping forward lightly, her shoes scattered elsewhere, Tom forgot to breath when Sybil reached out and touched his face, one palm resting lightly on his cheek, her eyes full of something harsh, something desperate as she whispered. "Do I look better than her?"

He didn't need to ask who she meant, there could only be one person, and there was certainly only one answer. "Yes. Without a doubt."

For the next dragging five seconds, Sybil slid her hand from his face, leaving his skin feeling cold and bare. Then her eyes began searching his, and he felt a twist in his insides at the scrutiny. It was all he could do to look back, to look into her eyes, to search for the full lips he had imagined far to many times to count. And then he saw, with a chill down his spine, that her eyes were doing the same, trailing from his to his mouth, and then she was leaning forward, and he was leaning forward, a voice was shouting somewhere in the background, _'Tom, no, don't! You promised yourself you would forget her!'_ but his sudden need for her was overwhelming, controlling. Then, just as they were about to close that small space between them, he heard Sybil give a light gasp and then she was turning away. All at once his tightened, expectant body loosened, defeated, and his eyes came to a close.

Her steps became a little fainter as she padded down the alley to find her shoes, but when Tom opened his eyes, startled by the sound of the clicking heels coming closer he stumbled backward slightly when Sybil threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. He kissed back instantly, without any thought or pretence. His hands roamed her coat clad shape, pulling fiercely at her waist, pushing his own hips against hers. He released a slight groan when her fingers wrapped around his hair as her head tilted to gain a deeper fit into their kiss. He couldn't believe that as long a gap of five weeks had not destroyed even the slightest part of all that he felt for this woman. Everything, _everything_ he felt for her was still there, still burning like the most unconquerable fire, and he wasn't sure how he felt about such a realisation.

Pressing her up against the cold wall, Tom tried to lose himself to the sensation of her delicate caresses to his throat, the close fit of her body to his. But when her hands trailed lower, brushing downward until her fingers caught on his open zipper, like a bullet, the touch blew images of Gwen into his mind, of the meeting he had had with Carson this morning, to his role as Servant.

He tore away from Sybil with a sound resembling a choke, determined to make the ending quick and deliberate. What he had not expected however, was that Sybil may not be as shell shocked as he. Straightening up and wiping a hand to the blood now seeping from her lip, the force of his kiss clearly having reopened the recently congealed wound, she spat at the floor. "I see how it is."

Her anger was apparent, and oddly, he felt his own building. "Don't be like that! We both know how it has to be! For fucks sake Sybil, only last month you were telling me we couldn't happen in this life! And you're right! We- _It_ can't! So stop, _please_ stop torturing me like this!"

The rising volume of his voice had clearly spurred on her own. "I know what I said, okay? I know! But to say I'm the one torturing you, that's not fair! None of this, _none_ of this would have happened if you could have just gotten over what you felt for me the moment we met!"

This was it, the row they had been unknowingly building up to, all the passion pent up from that night together coming out in an entirely different form. "You don't think I didn't try? That I didn't try to stop how I felt? I did Sybil, I did! But we were thrown together, our worlds are just too close! And you know it isn't as easy as just stopping, from what I remember, after we slept together you told me you couldn't!"

He felt a cruel spasm of satisfaction when she faltered. "I- This can't go on- We can't _live_ like this!"

If her voice had been calm, softer, he may have felt a surge of excitement that she may be considering options for them. But as it was, her tone was challenging and threatening. "What do you mean?" He knew exactly what she meant, and his bones chilled to ice at the thought.

"If we can't live like this Tom, then maybe one of us shouldn't live at all."

"So that's it then is it?" If he hadn't been so stunned he may have felt embarrassed at his trembling voice. "That's the answer to this?

Her words were not shaky at all, in fact, they seemed sure. "You know it is."

He was about to reply that she was being ridiculous, that she was insane for thinking such a thing, but then he thought of all the nights he had spent tossing and turning, attempting to sleep without her, to the moments of agonizing awakening knowing that the 'other life' didn't exist, of running his hands along his dimpled scars, thinking that maybe just one more hit, just _one_ more, would make this all a little easier, and he realised that Sybil was right; it was the answer.

_Please Review ^^ (Hugs to those who helped me reach last weeks 100 goal!)_

_Confession; by Friday afternoon I had barely written a paragraph of this chapter! I don't know what happened! But with lots of encouragement from those of you on Twitter, I managed, so thank you, really!  
>A little mention to BelleLitteraire, who's real life story gave me the bout of inspiration that finally got me typing this chapter!<br>Once again, the amazing Btvs and Lilabut got a moment of inspiration after reading this chapter and created these stunning videos...  
><em>_ www. youtube. com/watch?v=P9Uqzw1_32w by Btvs  
>www. youtube. comwatch?v=-e1rl70P72M&feature=g-u-u by Lilabut  
><em>

_Next Monday my sexy's..._


	12. Too Close

_Chapter song - Too Close by Alex Clare_

__' I can't lie no more, I can't hide no more, g___ot to be true to myself '_

__. . . . . . . . . .__

She couldn't do it. She couldn't. She just _couldn't_. But that didn't mean she couldn't have someone do it for her.

She had tried to come around to the idea of killing again, had tried to remind herself over and over that the people she saw almost everyday had probably killed just the night before, but when she thought of the echo of a bullet- _the _bullet pounding through her head, she knew it was an impossibility. Well, an impossibility for _her_ anyway.

Clicking along the cold streets, a winter evening settling apon the buzzing twists and turns of London, lit only by a few premature Christmas lights, Sybil considered the destination of her meeting with Mary and Edith. What she had made out to be a simple meet up, was going to turn into something more, _much_ more, and the thought made her a little ill, well, sick to her stomach actually.

Trying to rid herself of the request she would soon make, the request she knew would be attended to with absolute perfection, she thought of the small job she herself had recently completed to satisfy the beast of snarling envy within her...

When she had stumbled away from Tom a mere six days ago, her head clear and jumbled all at once with the decision, the _realisation_ of what it would take to end the toxic, twisted relationship between them, Sybil had spotted Gwen, also stumbling, her face bloody, her hair tussled. She had known neither of them were up for a second round, but the sight of the body she knew to be Tom's current lease of pleasure shot such a fierce bolt of jealously down her spine, that she had _purposely_ revealed herself; though Gwen did not know this. She kept had kept a safe distance, listening with a smirk as she heard the bitch redhead stepping behind her, and spoke to no one on her phone._ 'What was that Grantham? A job in Yorkshire? Yes, yes I'll go as soon as I can get myself ready'. _And just like that, the footsteps stopped and retreated, and Sybil's smirk widened at the thought of Gwen searching blindly for her in the North of England whilst Tom laid lonely in a cold double bed. No one hits the bullseye with the first arrow, but good luck with the job Gwen...

Nearing the small wine bar close to the station, gang members being forever wary of having fast exits near by, Sybil took a deep breath and tried to retain the smirk on her face. Could she really do this? Was she capable of making this demand? Well, apparently so, as her body acted of its own accord and began stepping down the winding metal stairs to the oak door. Pushing into the darkened wine cellar-like bar, Sybil slipped quickly to the back of the room, the sound of Mary's voice her guiding light.

"Well marry him then, for Gods sake, it isn't like Grantham wouldn't approve."

"Marry who?" Sybil arched her eyebrow as she lowered her Marc Jacobs bag to the floor, edging around the booth to join Mary and Edith.

"Anthony, I think he's going to propose." Sighed Edith, nodding at Sybil in greeting as she ran her flat palms over the musty wooden table.

Mary who had not welcomed Sybil took a sip of wine, and she noticed with an odd flicker of unease, that her icy gang fellow did not even acknowledge her as she turned to Edith. "I don't see the problem. He's an LL, so you don't have to make a relationship request to Grantham."

Sybil, who suddenly felt the urge to have Mary look at her, jumped into the conversation. "I didn't even know you were seeing Anthony Edith? If anyone was going to get engaged I would have said it was you and Matthew Mary?"

If Mary had seemed cold before, now she literally frosted over. "Oh didn't you hear? We're not together now, not since the night of the fire actually. He proposed, I told him he was being ridiculous, that we were only sleeping together because we were in the same gang, that it was convenience, and he broke it off. Infact, as far as I know, you aren't the only one _tutoring_ the new girl."

The following silence was uncomfortable to say the least, the awkward air highlighting the lack of personal attachment between the three girls who had seen more of eachother in the past years than they had of their own families. It took a full minute, in which Mary traced the rim of her glass with her finger and Sybil took a few gulps of wine, for Edith to end the tension.

"Well, we'll see. I like him, but, who knows?" She titled her glass slightly higher than necessary to swallow the last dregs of what Sybil could tell was water. "Look, Sybil I haven't got long, Grantham has me signed on for a-" She whipped her head sideways, "-burglary later, sorry, but what was it you wanted to talk to us about?"

In the harsh silence that had claimed what should have been Sybil's confident entrance, she had almost forgotten her purpose in being there. But the sudden recall whipped up the blood beneath her skin. "Ahh, well, I- I need a favour from one of you."

When Mary exhaled a blunt puff of air through her nose, creating a ripple on the surface of the plum red liquid pressed to her lips, Sybil tightened her jaw a little. "Favour?"

"What sort of favour Syb-?" Edith recoiled a little when Sybil cut across her.

"Look Edith, you go, I can ask the favour of Mary, it's really not a problem." Yes it _was_, and she wanted to know if there was _another_ one.

Running her bottom lip through her teeth, Sybil caught Edith's eye; they both understood how Mary could rear up in a mood at the drop of a hat. And having been at the brunt of most of them, Edith slightly nodded in goodbye and swept from the table.

"I suppose you've guessed I'm not too keen on doing _you _a favour." Mary's eyes finally met Sybil's. They flashed with a look that stunned her for the moment; she'd seen that look many times, but never at her, never at an LL.

"Funnily enough I had, and you might think yourself superior Mary but I don't deserve the bitch face and I bloody well don't deserve to be told off! So come on, what's wrong?" Sybil could barely believe her own anger, but she knew it stemmed from the stress she had felt leading up to this meeting, only to have it complicated by Mary's attitude.

In the way only Mary could, she rolled her eyes as though Sybil had just made a silly, childish comment. "Oh darling, darling don't be such a baby."

"Don't darling, darling m-"

"You remember I went away last week?" Sybil seethed silently as Mary continued, caressing the stem of her glass. "Well Grantham had asked me to do a sweep of some of his overseas businesses. You know, the warehouse in Paris, the factory in Germany, the brothel in Amsterdam. Oh, you know the brothel, don't you Sybil? Rosamund's place? You did a job there last month didn't you?"

Time stopped, but not for long enough, as Sybil nodded in confirmation, all too aware of the low dim lighting and desk between her and Mary; an interrogation set-up if ever there was one. "I did."

"Yes, I thought so. You see, while I was there, Rosamund told me a little bit more about the fight that ruined your job. Remember the fight?" When Mary paused for further encouragement, Sybil slipped her sweating palms into her lap, twisting the napkin she had dragged along the dented table in her cold fingers. "Well, Rosamund told me it wasn't an odd occurance, quite regular actually. She told me that some of the men get jealous, that they think prostitutes want to make love to them and them alone. But, you see, I _did_ think it was odd. Want to know why?"

_Breathe_. "Why?"

"Because you _aren't_ a prostitute, and I know for a fact you only went undercover the nights Laurent was due in, and even if other men did want you, they could only grab you out in the main room. Rosamund told me how she would replace you with another girl if the situation got demanding. So, I thought to myself, why would a man get jealous over a woman he's never had that sort of connection with? And, thinking wisely, _very_ wisely, I guessed that the attacker was probably someone up to no good, maybe someone who wanted Laurent just as much as we did? And you know what I did, to find out that is?"

Sybil knew it wasn't really a question, but attempted a reply anyway. "I- well, tell me."

"Well, Rosamund's great, _really_ knows how too keep her girls safe. She ahh, she has alarms in their room if they need security, and umm, men undercover as clients to keep a little order, oh and cameras, cameras _everywhere_. Outside, in the main hall, in the bedrooms-"

A tattoo being traced on her chest with what felt like a sledge hammer, Sybil almost raised her hands in surrender when she realised; _this was it_. "Mary I can expl-"

But she wasn't offered the chance. "-so I went to the security room and watched back the night of the fight. Now-" Sybil thought she would feint when Mary withdrew a photo from her briefcase and placed it flat on the desk. "-I thought it was a little odd that you asked him to sit with you, and from what I can see here, you seem very close. But, you were on a job right? You _had_ to be convincing, so I watched on." Not knowing whether to run there and then, Sybil trembled a little when the photo of her straddling Tom, noses touching, was replaced with one of him watching her and Laurent. "I mean, when I saw this, Rosamund's story made sense. Just _look_ at the jealousy in that man's eyes. I know I did, for a very long time actually, and I _knew_ I recognised him from somewhere-"

"Ma-"

"-but where? So, I carried on. Oh Sybil, you _have_ to see this photo, it's great." The fact that Mary withdrew a photo of her pressing her tattoo to Tom's with such relish made Sybil want to pass out. "Isn't this such a great shot. But guess what? I was still giving you credit, I really believed you were lulling, who I had now remembered as that Irishman from Satan's, into a false sense of security. But then I saw this-" Like a printing press, Mary slid photo after photo of Tom and Sybil across the table.

All of Sybil's insides seemed to have turned to liquid, swirling like an acid within her stomach. She reached out tentatively, barely brushing the edge of the shots, the paper like fire on her fingertips. She shuddered as she glanced over each image, Tom lifting her chemise, his palms against the wall, a kiss on the bed, her naked, him naked, them _together_- She couldn't look at the rest, so ripped her eyes away from the shots of their clasped hands, her fingers stroking his eyebrows, of him looking down on her as she slept... "Mary pl-"

"-and I realised that I was wrong, incredibly wrong." Mary may as well have said 'You're dead' when she made her next revelation. "And you know what? I've left the best till last. The _live_ action. Here's a copy."

The moment Mary slipped the memory stick across the table, Sybil picked it up with shaking fingers, surprised that it not did not weigh the weight of an anvil with all the treachery it held, and plopped it swiftly into Mary's half empty wine glass. "Let- me- explain."

Her fellow gang member sighed with her next words, as though it pained her to say them, and rose from her seat, her dominance emanating like a fiery haze. "I honestly don't believe you deserve that privilege. How dare you, how _could_ you?"

Sybil also stood, though her legs, unlike Mary's strong stance, felt weak. "Walk with me Mary, please, you've got to- to let me explain, _please_!"

When Mary didn't answer, Sybil knew what she was about to do, but her reactions came too slow and she was forced to watch with horrified eyes as the photos of her downfall were swept from the table to the grey slab floor. And as Mary left the wine bar, Sybil felt close to tears when eyes followed her to the ground, and over the photos she had begun frantically collecting. Screwing them all into crumpled masses and stuffing them into her bag, she stumbled to her feet and with practised agility followed Mary through the musty room. Clanging up the iron steps and onto the main street, she was surprised to find herself almost face to face with her allie, _if_ she could call her that anymore.

"You have- five- no _two_, two minutes to tell me what's been going on! But don't you dare say you can explain this, because what you have done is utterly unexplainable, _unforgivable_!"

"I know, I know Mary!" Sybil felt close to tears, her mind already in her apartment, grabbing her stuff, calling a cab, _escaping_. "Just pl- please let's walk okay?"

"Two- minutes."

And so began the confession. "The first thing you should know Mary, is that I'm not, I'm not seeing him. We've never been a couple, it isn't like that-"

"So that makes it okay? You're just fucking a Servant so it doesn't mat-?"

Heart tight, Sybil shook her head vehemently. "No! No, Mary. That night, at Rosamund's, was the only time. I _swear_ to you. He turned up, we both got- got caught up in the moment and w-"

"The beginning. From the beginning Sybil. And do not lie to me." The warning in Mary's tone was unnecessary, Sybil knew it was the truth or nothing.

"Okay, the beginning. I guess it all started that night we did the raid on the Turner mansion. You remember the deeds we had we to collect? Well, Tom, he- the Servant, well we kissed. I only did it to get a knife from his hand, honestly, because I could see he was looking at me like- well- But then we kissed again when he saw me a few weeks later." Sybil felt like she was on autopilot, delivering the lines as though they meant nothing to her, that the events she spoke of had not tormented her for so many months. "We didn't- it didn't mean anything. I knew it was wrong, alright, I did. But it was nothing, at- at the time."

"I'm just trying to get it straight in my head, you and the enemy?" It appeared Sybil's introduction had made things far more real.

"I can barely believe I'm in this situation myself Mary." She whispered, pulling her coat tighter to her chest as she took a deep breath and continued. "Anyway, it was nothing. But then- the night of the fire, well he came and warned me that the attack was going to happen, he said he couldn't let me die like that, that he-"

Sybil turned to her now frozen companion, who had come to a halt three steps behind, forcing head bowed to the cold Londoners to weave around her. "I remember."

"Mary?"

"The night of the fire, me and Matthew caught the prick-" Sybil prayed Mary had missed her wince. "-down Regent. And, and I told him you were home. If I remember rightly, he ran off-"

"To me, to find me." Mary did not acknowledge Sybil's words, but began walking and the story continued. "Well, he saved me I guess. Then during the fight, we both ended up on the balcony, and well, he made me promise not to come near him again, because I was starting to effect him or something, I don't know." She did know, she knew every word of that moment between them, but her pounding heart told her she needed to add a slight nonchalance into what was becoming quite a romantic story."But even though I made the promise, two months later Carson put him on a Prime minister job, the one Grantham had me on, and just like that, he kissed me again."

The look on Mary's face could kill, probably had done in the past, and Sybil found it best to look forward into the crowd of freezing Londoners they were cutting through. "If I hadn't had to endure the graphic evidence myself, I would never have believed you two were building up to anything major, all this _kissing_."

"Would you rather I just screwed him everytime I saw him then?" Sybil may have yet to make the request to end it all, but the jibe at her and Tom's relationship, at the moments they had shared, hurt.

But what hurt more was Mary's brute force shoving her into a doorway and pressing her against the wall by her forearm. "I- would- rather you had tried to _kill_ him everytime you saw him."

Resisting the urge to end her story and run, now, and not stop, Sybil shrugged off Mary's arm, panting a little and indicated they move on. She felt a fleeting shiver of relief when Mary stepped out the door way and started walking. "We saw eachother next at a hotel, we talked for a bit, and basically, he ended up telling me he felt something for me, that I had become his secret..." Why hadn't it stayed that way? "That was the last time I saw him before- before Rosamund's."

"How did you feel?"

"Feel?" Even through the throbbing pain in her head her anxiety was causing her, Sybil found herself blushing.

"Good God, not like _that_. In fact, from what I _saw_, the SS aren't quite so fucking useless at everything..." What would usually seem light hearted banter between friends was actually a comment to cut, to cause pain and humiliation. "I want to know if you felt guilty, felt regret?"

"I did." She felt it best not to tell her that her regret was at having taken a taste of what she couldn't have, not because she had been disloyal to her gang.

"And then?"

Sybil halted abruptly, her pounding heart suddenly coming to a near stop; this was the point her confession turned to requisition. "And then we said we'd gone too far, that that was it. But Mary, I, I saw him last week and-"

"Did he do that?" Mary stopped walking again, raising an eyebrow at Sybil's lightly bruised chin with what she knew to be hopeful expectancy.

"No, his girlfriend did." His whore, his bitch, his little redhead slut.

Almost 11 years in a gang clearly meant you didn't miss a trick. "What did you think? You'd end up with a Servant and we'd all let it pass?"

"Don't be ridiculous, we never discussed things like that, and I'm not even sure I like him-" She mentally chided herself. "But we did talk, and well Mary, this is where you come in."

Mary's expression remained contorted with what Sybil could only define as disgust when she spoke her next words, a cruel smile creeping onto her lips. "Got a brother does he? Or an SS friend who needs a good seeing to?"

Sybil's request did not come out as cooly as she had practised, but nevertheless, it did the job. "He's the one that needs seeing to Mary, I need you to kill him."

o o o

"And how exactly did you manage this?"

Tom winced as the nurse pressed an ointment soaked sponge to the previously gushing, now taped, slash on his temple. "Car smash."

As nimble fingers dabbed the blood soaked sponge into a dish of yellow liquid, the colours coming together in a swirly plume of orange, the nurse puffed out a noise of disbelief. "Ha! Car accident this may be, but not your average smash looking at the angle of this. What were you driving?"

Even through the throbbing pain pulsing across his forehead, Tom could not help grinning at the old nurses perceptiveness and gave his answer, though reluctantly. "A Subaru."

"_Ah_, a street racer. Think that's clever do you?" She shook her head as she discarded the blood red pad and drew a new one from a fiddly plastic sleeve.

He winced with a shot of agony as his cut was once again introduced to the soaked pad. "Apparen- apparently so."

"I would- stop moving- I would like to think this would put you off anymore racing, but I know men, and they don't think in the same way as women."

"And what way is that?" His voice came muffled through gritted teeth.

"_At all_. Women think,-" She shuffled away from his side to dispose of the crimson collection of soft lumps. "-men don't."

Shaking his head in quiet disagreement, Tom jumped slightly when a wet towel was pressed to his cheek, wiping rather roughly to dispel of the congealed blood he imagined was caked liked icing down his face. "You like being a nurse?"

"Well, some days it's difficult, but I've been in the job so long I can't imagine not being one. The good days make it all worth it." Oh Jesus, don't think about her, don't think about her, don't...

Bracing against the towel as the nurse found a slick of blood on his jaw that didn't seem to want to come off, Tom's mind brought up Sybil, and he nearly threw up on the spot. He was used to this feeling by now though, having gone through it almost every minute of the last six days, his head whirring with the deal they had come to; to end it, _really_ end it. He had tried to imagine doing it, had stopped still for brief moments just to picture what it would be like to ki- to kill her, and the after effects would feel as though he had just envisioned killing himself.

He tried to bring himself back to the present then. And when he did, he found the nurse peering inquisitively at his neck, the scarlet swiped towel hovering beside her in a clenched palm. "Is everythin-?"

"I've seen that before. That mark you have there on your neck." Her voice sounded distant.

His fingers instinctively came to the SS stamp on his throat, felt their tips press into a layer of blood and he gave an excuse he had given countless times before. "Oh right, yeah, it's uhh, a street racing mark actually. It stands for street speeders."

"Your friend died, didn't he?" The nurse had regained composure and set to work wiping the rest of the sticky residue on his neck. "Got shot? I was here the day they brought him in. Was outside having a smoke when the ambulance showed up, could hear people shouting that we'd had a shooting, so I just rushed over to see if they needed any assistance. And I saw that mark on his neck."

Any pain that Tom may have felt since he had taken that roundabout too swiftly, earning a smack to the head on his window, fell away in a second. He wasn't sure why, but his curiosity seemed to have frozen him, and he realised he had the chance to answer the question the SS had been asking for _so_ long; who was the second person? "Yeah he did. His name was Charles-"

"-Bryant. Yes, that was him." As the nurse confirmed the name Tom had recently discovered to be the name of Ethel's baby's father, he felt his chest contract.

"Did he uhh- did he say much? Only none of us guys at street speeders really know what went on." He hoped to sound convincing.

The nurse replaced the wet towel with a dry one as she considered his question. "Well, actually, I do remember him saying something, but people in that state say odd things."

"Like?" Tom knew he had seemed eager, but hoped it only came across as wanting to ease his grief for a long lost friend.

"Umm, keep still, he kept saying, mind my language, he kept saying how he was going to kill the little bitch, the little bitch Lady who uhh, thought she could beat his _side_, I think it was. He just kept saying it over and over. No clue what he was on about though."

But Tom did. Tom knew exactly what was he was on about. And like a tumbling tower, brick by brick of realisation came smashing down upon him. Charles had been shot by two of Lord and Ladies. Satan's had killed his murderer, but had never discovered the second person. Yet Sybil had killed someone, had shot someone dead, and she was alive, she was not being tracked. So then- that could mean- If she wasn't being hunted, then maybe the blame had been passed to- to someone else- who had been killed for his- for _her_ crime.

"I've got to-" His mouth felt like sandpaper as he slid from the nurses table and across the room. "-to- go. I've got to go."

Flinging aside the stained towel, the nurse made to follow him with a shout that she wasn't finished, but he was already out the door. Infact, by the time the nurse reached the door herself, Tom had sped blindly through the too bright corridors of the eerily quiet hospital, blood trickling down his face from his wound, and out into the cold evening air. His dishevelled state earned him a few questionable glances, but even if they had wanted to help he was moving far too fast to be caught.

So lost in what he had leant, the knowledge cramming into every orifice of his body, he was forced to swiftly avoid an oncoming car when he sped across the car park. The shouts and deafening horn of the close encounter woke him, and before he knew it, he was reaching deep into his pocket, withdrawing his phone, and tapping in a number he had had little use for since the start of his relationship with Gwen. But before he pressed his thumb to the glowing green call icon, he took a deep breath, hoping the brief intake of oxygen would give him time to think and consider the utter chaos this call would bring.

It would start war, would begin the deadliest of hunts, initiate the fiercest of battles. But it would also offer him the solution to his uncertainty, the escape from the deal he had made. He could get what he needed without _breaking_ himself. In fact, if he simply sat back and let events take their course he would never have to see _her_ again. It would be over, done, the end.

Blood rushing around his body and out of it in a violent line of crimson, Tom swept his thumb over the screen and unthinkingly brought the phone to his damp face.

"Ethel? Yeah, it's Tom. Yes, Gwen is still away, but I wasn't calling to- Look, listen-" Pinching his nose between his thumb and finger, Tom closed his eyes tight shut. "-I have to tell you something."

o o o

Sybil threw back her head under the running water.

_Tom flopped flat out on the sofa._

She closed her eyes to the falling droplets.

_He stared blankly at the black ceiling._

Had she done the right thing?

_Had he made the right decision?_

She thought of him.

_He thought of her._

There way no other way.

_The choice had been made._

_Please Review ^^_

_I've recently come to the conclusion that KYEC has become my baby. While I love it and enjoy it, it can be hard work and tires its mumma out, so even the smallest of reviews (so stunned I'm at 110) will keep me going! Or you can babysit for a while? Up to you!_

_You lot are gonna like next week, trust me on this..._

_You guys are so spoiled, so spoiled, because once again, Btvs has made one of the most wonderful videos for this chapter, enjoy...  
>www. youtube .comwatch?v=LgHelwitQ4A  
><em>


	13. Gravity

_Chapter Song - Gravity by Embrace_

_' Baby, it's been a long time waiting, such a long, long time. And I can't stop smiling, no I can't stop now. '_

. . . . . . . . . . .

The cracking boom of thunder shattered the inky sky of London, and if Tom wasn't already blind from the waterfall of rain pouring from the overhead clouds of black, the cyan flash of precedent lightening would have done the trick. And as he staggered senselessly foward, his soaked shirt clinging to his drenched body like a second layer of skin, he almost collapsed into the darkness of night as another blue streak stung his vision and the sky rumbled over head.

Spitting a bubble of frothy, icy rain water to the train track ahead of him, Tom continued his run along the sodden planks, his speed so fast that he was able to quickly recover whenever his shoes slipped beneath him. He hadn't looked back yet, he didn't need to. He knew she was chasing him, that she wasn't letting up, that this was it. His breathing was so short by now, as to expected after half an hour of straight sprinting, that he wasn't sure how much longer he was going to be able to carry on. All he kept telling himself was that he had to keep going, that as long as he kept to the track it would lead him to safety.

This idea consuming him, he over thought the pounding motion of his legs and tripped up a slightly crooked plank and fell hard, his spine crashing against the metal rail over and over as he rolled along the trains path. His painful tumble came to an end when he thudded against a rusting carriage, his resultant view the charcoal sky and twinkling pepper of the stars.

"Faith and beggorah." The mix of the showering rain and familiar taste of metallic blood muted his speech, the red, watery concoction flowing from his mouth and down his face as he sprung to his feet.

As his legs once again began their frantic, and now painful, sprint along the track which had now branched out to meet ten others, he felt the strangest flush of gratitude that Sybil had decided to come for him at so late, or early, an hour as three in the morning; any earlier, any later, and he would most definitely have been crushed to death by an oncoming train by now. And with that thought, his pace slowed until he came to an abrupt halt; would a death like that have been _better_? All this running, this escaping, what was the point? His death was inevitable, so close infact he could almost feel the frigid breath of the reaper himself prickling the back of his neck. And why was it inevitable? Because he had chosen it, he had chosen to die.

He had had his chance to make his stand, to stake his claim on Sybil's life when he had called Ethel. But when his allie had asked for the information he had offered, his words did not come out like he had planned, they did not form the sentence '_Sybil Crawley killed Charles_', no, instead he had pushed his phone deep into his pocket, just as he pushed his new knowledge to the back of his mind. Neither the conversation or the discovery were to be brought up again.

_The choice had been made._

"It's alright Sybil, I'm not going to run any more." Raising his hands in submission, rain weeping down the back of his neck, Tom turned slowly and felt his breath catch at the sight. "You look-" Beautiful. Stunning. Perfect. But none of those would come out, he wouldn't lower himself to that last surrender when he was about to lose his life. "-freezing."

God did she. Her entire body was trembling, true, her image was blurred a little in the fog of rain, but she was definitely shaking from head to toe. But Tom looked past this, looked past the thin jumper pasted to her chest and the jeans sodden and clinging to her legs, and looked into her eyes. Eyes bluer and vaster than the inked sky above. Eyes desperate and fiery all at once. Eyes that stared into his so intently that for a moment he thought it was _okay_; if this was to be the last thing he ever saw, well, that- that would be okay.

"Why-" Shattering thunder overhead seemed to shake the ground beneath them. "-did you drop this?"

Shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, not an easy feat when the slits seemed glued together by the watery drizzle, Tom dropped his eyes to the Swiss Army knife in Sybil's outstretched hand, trying to ignore her gun in the other. "I didn't want to be tempted."

The cold he already felt biting into his bristling skin was nothing compared to the chill he felt when Sybil threw his blade between them; his natural defences screaming at him to lunge for the silvery weapon. "You're supposed to be tempted Tom! We decided to- We- The end- We said we would end this."

His fingernails dug into his thighs as he clenched his hands in his jeans; he had made his choice, he didn't need her telling him to think otherwise. Raising his eyes to hers again, he flicked his hair sideways to rid the view of a few water darkened strands. "It doesn't matter. You've got me now Sybil. It's, well, it's your call."

Anther flash of azure light shot through the air, the rumbling growl following almost instantaneously. "It isn't. I- There's something you should know." Any flurry of torturous, vicious hope he had that she might suddenly want to call this all off was dashed with her next words. "I've told Mary."

If it wasn't for his subconscious intakes of freezing air, or the repetitious beats of his aching heart, Tom would have believed himself dead already. "I see. Well, that's me finished then."

When she started to cry, he found himself glorying over her pain, but only for the briefest second. "I just- I couldn't do it- I can't explain but I could-"

"Shh, alright. I understand."

Removing his hands from his jeans to run them through his hair, Tom felt the oddest, strangest, most unexpected of calms wash over him, seeping into him like the falling rain. It was probably hysteria, an overflow of adrenalin, but he felt... acceptance. He had obviously known his death was likely the moment Sybil told him so down that alley, but he realised now, that in the back of his mind, he had always known he would come to an end like this one. The day he had had stained his skin with the mark of his gang, he had quite literally sold his soul to Satan, and in doing so had accepted the risks of such a life.

"Why are you smiling?" Her voice shook, but he could not tear his eyes away from the sky to see if her tears continued to fall. "I thought you'd be angry?"

"I thought so too Sybil." He closed his eyes against the patter of droplets, his face still raised to the sky. "I thought so too."

"Tom, look at me please." He didn't. Not for a minute or two; this was _his_ time. But when he did, he was glad he hadn't waited any longer, he didn't want to go down without hearing her next two words. "I'm sorry."

The pain that collected in his throat was easily swallowed, and he nodded with his reply, the out of place grin still stuck to his face. "Me too." When she bowed her head in return, wiping the back of her hand against her swollen eyes, he caught a glimpse of her curled LL. "Where is she? Mary?"

"She was right behind me. We separated when the tracks began to split off. She'll-" She took a shuddered breath. "-be here soon."

_Soon_, but not this second, there was still time, and good God was he going to use all he had left. "I want to tell you something, but I don't want you to hate me for it."

"I promise." Another crack of thunder rolled between the ashen clouds. "I don't think I _can_ hate you Tom."

"Good. I-I know I shouldn't say it, but I can't keep it in any longer. I haven't _got_ any longer." He had never said these words before. Well, not like _this_ before, not with so much meaning. But he was a dead man walking, and now was a good a time as ever. "I think I'm in love with you Sybil. I honestly think that I love you. I do, I _know_ I do. I love you and- and I'm already wishing that I hadn't just told you because now- now _this_ is going to happen and I feel as though I've wasted the time we had because I didn't realise what it was I felt for you."

In his rush to tear the words from his heart and chuck them across the misty space between them, Tom had missed Sybil dropping her gun to the ground to press both hands to her forehead. "Stop. _Stop_. Don't do this Tom. Don't do this-"

Finally closing the gap between them, slipping momentarily on the wet blade, Tom grasped Sybil's wrist and pulled them from her face, revealing a beautiful pair of glossy, midnight irises. "Sybil, _you_ stop. For just this one moment, this one _last_ moment, just accept that I love you. Forget it tomorrow if you have to, pretend none of this ever happened, but right now, fuck, _please_, please just let me be in love with you."

If Tom had been able to think of anything but the woman he held tight in his frozen fingers, he may have noticed that the silence between them, a silence which consisted of more rain, more thunder and lightening, more eye contact, more frantic heart beats and shuddered breaths, had diminished his time left by a full five minutes.

"Alright Tom. You can." He watched as she pulled her quaking bottom lip between her teeth.

Removing his vice grip from the fragile bones of her wrists, he ran his thumbs from her nose to jaw, easing the mixture of cloud fall and tears from her cheeks. "I can what? Say it."

"You can be in love with me Tom."

The flash in her eyes was not another bolt of lightening, but a look that Tom held deep in the most sacred part of his memory, and a look he had convinced himself he would never see again. Stepping back from her to look at his surroundings, he reached out blindly and felt her hand curl round his, her fingers slipping between the gaps of his own. Resisting the temptation to turn around and look at her again, Tom squinted through the haze of unyeilding rain and scanned the horizon for somewhere- anywhere-

Letting out a sigh of relief, Tom tightened the grip of his hand around Sybil's and began to run toward the rusting, graffiti tainted train carriage he had recently fallen against. As fate would have it, the worn doors refused to open and just when Tom thought he was going to finally feel all the emotions of crushing despair and sadness he was supposed to be feeling, Sybil threw a crumbling brick so hard against the carriage window that it almost shattered. Spurred by her attempt, Tom reached for the brick and with the force of his desperation, the window fell to peices. Neither of them were strangers to cramming through difficult places, and the small welts from the glass shards felt like masochistic familiarity to Tom, then before he knew it, him and Sybil were holding hands once again.

But this time he could look at her, _did _look at her. In the half a second his blue met hers, he saw that she was about to speak, and he edged forward to kiss her; the thought of her husky tone or his own Irish lilt acting as a reminder of who they really were would not ruin this for him.

The already prickled skin on the back of his neck burned a little when their lips pressed together and her cold hands slipped from his own and began unbuttoning the shirt stuck to his chest. He tried to pull away slightly, to kiss her in the way he liked best; soft brushes to tease, then ending the game with passionate strokes, but as he did her fingers stopped working on his shirt and crept to the back of his neck, pulling him into a full kiss. He understood; they couldn't take their time when there was no time on offer.

So, sliding his tounge into her mouth to meet her own, a slight groan escaping both of them, Tom followed her example and ran his hands down the sodden fabric of her jumper, and very slowly, for he would not rush _every_ part of this, began to pull the tucked in top from her jeans. As he revealed tiny patches of her bare skin, he skimmed his thumbs over them ever so lightly, surprised at the warmth that radiated there. It seemed that their need for each other had created a beacon of hazy warmth against the surrounding chill of the night air, and Tom sighed as the heat brought out Sybil's subtle scent of vanilla and lotion. He would know it anywhere.

Somewhere in the background, along with the sounds of cracking thunder and the tap of rain on metal, Tom heard two light thuds as Sybil flicked off her shoes, and with two firm pushes he managed the same. He moved a palm to hold her face when he began to feel her lips trembling, shaking against his own, so that he could keep their kiss going. The taste and sensation were not something he was about to give up easily. Then, once he was again lost to the response of her kiss, the tickle of her fingers pulling open his shirt, he used his free hand to pull out the remainder of her soaked jumper and spread his fingers over the wet, silken skin of her back.

In the same moment they both pulled away from one another, Tom tearing his now open shirt off his back, Sybil sweeping her jumper over her head, and simultaneously threw the soaked bundles of material aside. Tom would have given anything at that moment to look upon Sybil for just a second, but she was already on him, kissing his neck, wrapping her arms so tightly about his shoulders he could barely move, and it wasn't long before his throbbing blood flow began travelling south.

Her hot, soft tongue on his throat had him desperate all of a sudden, and his hands were tugging open the button of her jeans, trying and failing to push the clinging material past her hips. But her hands then came over his frantic fingers, edging the denim down and wiggling out of it, stepping even closer to him when the heavy bottoms fell to the floor. Realising the short time they had would not wait for them, Tom tore away from Sybil, a butterfly spinning in his stomach as her teeth pulled on his bottom lip, and he too tore away his jeans, surprised to find Sybil had already managed to clink open his belt.

The loudest bout of thunder yet growled overhead, but Tom had closed off the outside world. All he knew now was the rising heat, the sound of Sybil's breathing, the ache in his stomach to take her, the sight of her coming toward him, her glowing white skin and sparkling kaleidoscope eyes, the feel of her kiss, the weight of her desperate tug, the pang in his heart as they lowered to the rough, course booth seat, his body pressed so hard against hers he was sure the lingering water droplets would melt them into one...

Breaking his vow of silence, because he realised he should use his voice while he still could, he murmured her name inbetween the trail of kisses he began to gently trail down her jaw, neck, chest, the breasts he had revealed with a practised flick of his finger, her shivering ribs, her soft stomach. "You're so beautiful."

"Shh Tom, shh." Combing her straggly, damp hair back from her forehead, Tom leant heavily on the arm keeping him on the seat as he felt that wonderful nudge of pressure from her hips as she slid off her underwear with an arch of her back. He lost his mind for a moment when her trembling hand slipped off his boxers, taking hold of him gently, but when she kept her fingers still around his solid length, he realised she wasn't toying, she was asking, pleading.

Steadying the one leg he had knelt to the floor, Tom edged further onto her, their bodies now a startling contrast to their former below freezing temperatures, and he caught his breath when he dragged his eyes down her; a glowing mass of luminous white skin, lit and misty in the dark night, webbed with sparkling water, covered with soft, light hair.

Wrapping his free arm firmly around her waist, he burried his face against her throat as he slid into the damp heat of her. The moan that escaped him came loud and shaking, but as he began to move inside of her, he realised she too seemed unable to retain the quiet that had descended upon them. The half gasps she gave with each thrust he made had his hairs on end, his senses on overload, and he allowed himself to release his own light groans in order to make her realise how good, how _right_ she made him feel.

They did not kiss, or explore with their hands or mouths. From a logical side they could not move much due to their unstable position, in which Sybil's icy heels rested on the back of Tom's knees and his arm trembled slightly from the strain of holding his weight, but from Tom's view, they did not move because it was not necessary; this wasn't about trying to reach _that_ moment, it was about clinging to every one _before _it.

So instead, he kept his grip on her back, dug his fingertips into her creamy skin, kept his face to her neck, against her sodden hair, and slid in and out of her slowly, gently, creating thrilling jolts that invaded his senses. In turn he felt her edge up every now and then to gain that further press of pleasure, but like him she didn't kiss or touch, she just wrapped her arms ever so tighly around his neck and nuzzled her lips against his collar bone. He carried on gasping and groaning, refusing to hold back in his last moments, and felt elated when she continued to do the same, whimpering and sighing with raspy chokes against his now burning skin.

Before long, Tom could feel a familiar, tense gathering with each urge into her tight, warm grip, and he sucked hard on his bottom lip; he wasn't about let himself go down as anything less than a gentleman. Meshing her hips against his in a vice grip, he thrust a little harder, faster, deeper, shaking his head to remain focused as she tangled a hand in his hair and arched her back so forcefully from the seat that he had little choice but to buck even harder to keep them from falling to the floor.

His spine shivered when Sybil began to tremble beneath him, letting out the lightest, longest moan against his SS mark, her teeth biting into his hollow skin, and when he let go, growling a little as he felt that blissful release, he didn't expect for Sybil to find his lips with her own as he shuddered against her, but when she did, he kissed back, and mumbled against them, because it could be the last time he was able...

"I love you, m'lady."

o o o

The rain continued to fall hard, the heavy droplets pinging against the roof of the carriage and snaking down the scratched glass of the window. Blacker than soot, the blanket of night air stiflingly tucked itself into the grimy corners of the train floor, but brought a chilling cold rather than a comforting warm. In the far corner, the two lovers remained close, breathing heavily, kissing slowly, holding closely.

"Sybil, darling, you've got to let go."

She almost succumbed to tears again then. It was alright for him, to tell her to let go, when it would end for him soon and she would be the one left behind with all the shattered fragments of what had been. With everything they had been. With everything she would have to _let go_. She tried to curse herself for the wicked thought, but thinking of Tom's earlier smile as he closed his eyes to the stars, she could not help but feel he would understand her self pity.

It wasn't until he began to shuffle on top of her that Sybil realised Tom had meant he needed her to let go physically. But even that wasn't a demand she was going to give into willingly. Instead of complying in fact, she pressed her nose even harder against his humming pulse point, wound her fingers tighter in his dripping hair and twined her arms and legs around his resisting body like ivy on the bark of a tree.

When he pushed up from the seat, taking hold of her gripped fist and slowly easing it from his hair, the tears she had held back broke free. The only proof his body had even been held to hers as he began to roam around blindly, arms outstretched in the thick darkness for his sopping clothes, were the few crystal water droplets on her fingertips and the taste of him on her tongue. He had taken the luxurious warmth with him.

Unlike Tom, Sybil was not ready to get up. Getting up meant moving forward, time moving forward, the end getting closer. So she remained seated, moving into a huddled position, her suddenly shivering body scratching against the stubbly fabic of the carriage bench.

"Your shirt is on that chair Tom- no- there- yeah that's it." Of all the things she could be saying and that was all that came out? This man, the man now trying to ply apart his glued shirt, loved her, had told her he was in love with her, and all she could offer in return was the finding of his clothes?

She almost, _almost_, found the strength to smile back when he grinned at her. "You know, it's a lot easier putting these wet clothes back on than taking them off. Maybe you should try it?"

"Why?" She pressed her salty chin to her knees when he quirked an eyebrow at her, squirming in discomfort as he buttoned up his shirt. "It isn't like Mary hasn't seen all this before."

Her skin prickled when he reached out for his jeans, not bothering to locate his discarded boxers, and turned back to her with an unsure expression. "Now as I'm certain I've never shared a bed with dear _Lady_ Mary, I can only assume there's something about you I've overlooked?"

Clinging to the easiness of the conversation as though it were a numbing anaesthetic, Sybil let her tears roll silently as she stood up to collect her own clothes. "I can assure you, Mary is nothing more to me than an anger riddled, neurotic sister figure. A sister in fact, who came across a slightly revealing security tape of two trait- _lovers_ in Rosamunds."

"_No_?" Tom dropped his shoes to the floor and Sybil managed to give her first smile as she emerged from her sticky jumper. "She saw _everything_?"

"Photos _and_ a live copy." The torment she had brought upon herself when previously thinking of the spoken records seemed non-existent when discussing them with Tom, epescially when he laughed like that, his eyes crinkled in boyish joy.

It wasn't long, through the aid of the sparking lightening, that Sybil managed to pull on the rest of her clothing. If the situation in which she found herself was anything different, she may have cared a little that her drenched jumper and jeans had her feeling incredibly uncomfortable and cold. But as it was, Tom suddenly had his hands on her hips, his forehead on her own, and all she could feel were the points at which their bodies came into contact.

"Well isn't this touching."

At the sound of her accomplices voice Sybil's knees gave way and when she first looked into Mary's livid, wet face, it was from the train carriage's dirt ridden floor. But when she went to speak, not really knowing what she was going to say, Tom, also looking into the eyes of his enemy, of _their_ enemy for the moment anyway, spoke first. "Evening Mary."

Without realising, Sybil had wrapped her fingers around the hem of Tom's jeans as Mary replied, purposely stroking the Glock in her fist. "I think the appropriate expression would be goodbye Mary, but farewell would do too."

"Right you are." Without taking his eyes from Mary's, Sybil blinked a few times when she saw Tom's hand reach down to her, and she took it, unknowingly placing all her weight into his palm as she rose to her feet. "Now, do I get a final request?"

"Ha! Go on, I can't wait for this one." Sybil's hands were now pressed against Tom's heaving ribs, her eyes darting anywhere but Mary's.

"She needs to go, now. I'm serious." _She_? Oh her. Tom wanted her to leave.

"Fine." Mary raised her gun with two hands, as though to hurry along the situation. "Sybil, go, leave now."

At those words, at the sudden realisation of what was about to happen, Sybil wasn't Sybil anymore. She was a crazed wreck, a frantic mess, a jittery ruin. There were tears and screams and shouts and sobs. Her legs felt weak, her heart felt strained, her entire body felt powerless; just like her ability to stop Tom's murder. Her foggy eyes meant she could barely make out Mary's disgusted features, but also meant, that when Tom kissed her forcefully, with determined finality, before throwing her from the carriage, she didn't get a last glance at his face.

When she hit the stone scattered ground, her breath catching at the sudden thud, she wiped her eyes so roughly it stung and she sprang to her feet to start running. She ran and ran until she could barely run anymore, tripping and stumbling on the track and uneven stones, a vicious stitch stabbing into her side. And when she finally collapsed, crying so loudly into the night the sound echoed upon the surrounding walls and sleeping trains, she felt her stomach heave at the noise that shouted back.

BANG. The bullet to the head. BANG. The shot to the collar bone centre. BANG. The hit to the left shoulder.

The victory mark of '_L_'.

Sybil's surge of vomit splattered against the tracks barrier and she clamped a fist to her burning stomach as she heaved a second load. Panting between a few empty gags, she spat the leftover dregs of acidic bile from her mouth, and rolled onto the gravel, her eyes weeping, her body trembling, and pulled her limbs tight against one another to keep herself from crumbling to pieces.

The contrast of the peaceful night to the inner turmoil raging within her felt like torture, the punishment for having begun all of- of _this_. Why had this happened? Why couldn't she have stayed a dedicated member of Lords and Ladies? Why couldn't To- _he_ have stayed loyal to Satan's Servants? Why was he dead? Why was she born a murderer? _Why_?

A short while later, when Sybil lay flat on her back, cold and aching, the nights stars persisting to melt into twinkling droplets which glittered her shivering skin, she vaguely heard a few shouts of her name and the creeping steps that shuffled the gravel.

"Oh God Sybil, sit up." Mary tried to crouch down but Sybil rolled away, her leg falling into the pool of vomit.

"He said- he-"

Mary's voice was calm, oddly curious and questioning as she reached out a gentle hand, though Sybil barely noticed this."What has he said to you?"

"That he loves me."

_If you will never sit on a train the same way again, Please Review ^^_

_Look I- I have reasons, and- and I have plans. I said you would like this one for the S/T scene, I just didn't uhh, want to mention the rest!_  
><em>Strangely this was an easy one to write, maybe because I was quite (weirdly) excited for it.<em>  
><em>For those of you who listen to my chapter songs, this one could be the most perfect one yet, and may BREAK YOUR HEART!<br>Last note, if you haven't already, add me on Twitter 'MissPixieWay' as I'll now reveal Quote/Photo spoilers for the next chapter everyday._

_I WILL see you next Monday... right? Don't leave me..._

_(Eeek, amazing video based on this chapter by Lilabut www. youtube watch?v=BR5d2KsMN64&lc=YCUG0Sp700kB7shsASb0JQLsnG_PkxWEY1Qyh60NHuA&feature=inbox )_


	14. Iris

_Chapter Song - Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls_

_' And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming_, _or the moment of truth in your lies '_

_. . . . . . . . . . ._

The first morning had been the worst. The second almost bearable. And the third, fourth and fifth. The sixth was a little better, she had escaped the tears on that occasion. But the seventh, today, had been the best so far; no tears, no flashbacks, she was just, numb. Numb to the icy December cold, to the cheery songs of the closing in Christmas in which she would spend nursing a bottle of Château Lafleur, to the looks of pity at her exhaustion haggard face, to everything really.

Twisting her wrist experimentally in front of her glazed eyes, Sybil tried to feel the chill of the air on her skin, but when she found she couldn't, she twined her fingers back around her warm latte. Well, she assumed it was warm from its curling swirls of steam, she couldn't tell otherwise. Taking a possibly hot sip, Sybil shuffled on the chilled metal chair outside Starbucks, realising that she and she alone had chosen to sit in the cold. Even the smokers, who often sat huddled, grumbling, outside the busy coffee house had chosen takeaway; to walk and drink for warmth. But if she couldn't tell hot from cold, what did it matter?

Taking another foamy slurp, Sybil slid her frozen hand into her small bag, her eyes forward on the buzzing view of Regent Street, knowing the exact location of her phone, especially as it had so recently become the key object of her latest obsession; him, Tom. Since that fateful night, a full, exhausting, endless six nights ago, Sybil had thrown herself into the murder of the man that loved her. Not an hour went by when she didn't check the internet for news, scour the television for reports, scan every paper for the tell-tale headline. She told herself all she needed was for his body to be found, for his family to take him home to Ireland, to lay him in peace, then she would stop, then she would finally let go... _Let go_...

Twining her hand around her phone, she swept her fingers over various coloured icons until she tapped on the blue bird image; the link to the Twitter account Grantham would kill her for having, but something she was willing to risk. Within minutes the phone was back in her bag, having tried and failed to find results for _'London Murder', 'Train Killing', 'Man Shot'_ and finally, one she had not been brave enough to try until this very moment _'Tom Branson Dead_'. The lack of information only brought her a seconds relief that his family had been spared the inevitable for a little while longer, before it was once again replaced with the feeling of a hollow stomach and a layer of grief.

Sybil had found that grief was a funny thing. It wasn't just tears, and sadness, and despair, like her parents would express every miscarriage anniversary, and she had to admit she had had her fair share of each this week. No, grief was a sort of drive, of passion, an all consuming emotion that banished the conscience and welcomed recklessness. In fact, it was this grief, the product of Tom's death, that had undeniably saved her from revealing her mourning of him.

The first day after Mary had fulfilled her request, she had laid in bed, puffy eyed and empty, wondering how she was going to pull herself together and carry on with her role as Lady. But then, when Grantham had called her, requesting that her and Carlisle see to a drug dealer who hadn't been paying up for his patch of LL territory, Sybil had found that her grief could easily be morphed into dedication to her side. She had thrown herself into her gang member role, relishing every debt she had to demand, revelling in the power that backed up every threat she made, silently smug at Grantham's pleasure.

By the third day after Tom's murder, Sybil had realised she was not angry at Lords and Ladies, nor Satan's Servants for that matter,well... she did still have that ingrained hate for them, always would, but that was different. She just wasn't angry at the gangs for causing all that had happened between her and Tom. They, her and him, had chosen their lifestyle _and_ chosen to get involved with each other. They had no one to blame but themselves. Yet after she had realised this, she had come to the conclusion that she wasn't angry at herself or Tom either, what had happened between them had been out of their control. He had fallen in love, and she, well-

Her heart clenched a little with this consideration, and for a horrifying second, her sense of touch returned as an icy tear dripped from her frantically blinking eyes. "Excuse me?"

Flicking the dropet from her cheek before it could do any damage to her immaculate make-up, something she had grown tired of having to repair multiple times in the week, Sybil looked up at the voice. "Yes?"

The Starbucks barista was a young boy, no older than sixteen and clearly didn't know how to deal with an emotional woman yet, well, did men ever learn to deal with emotional women? Taking pity on him however, Sybil put on her brightest, and most strained smile as he dropped a slightly damp Starbucks napkin to her table. "This is for you."

A blush creeping to her cheeks as the boy looked on, Sybil cringed as she opened the soft sheet; if she saw eleven digits blotting the folded tissue she planned to abandon the latte. But as it was, there were no numbers, only words, words she did not understand, but words her suddenly rushing heart seemed to.

_'Have you used the calm to consider?'_

o o o

Tom Branson could not keep the grin off of his face. There she was. Sybil. God how the week apart had tortured him. Had it tortured her? He hoped so, he hoped she had been preparing to find him. He knew he should of stayed away longer, like Mary said he was supposed to, but the bubbling happiness he had felt all week had finally reached boiling point and before he knew it he had been sneaking and dodging into every part of LL territory he knew, desperate in his search. And now he had found her. The woman he was in love with. Sybil Crawley.

Taking his eyes off of her for the briefest second in order to follow the young barista's journey back inside the coffee house, Tom caught his eye and beckoned him over again. "Sorry, I really should get back to work-"

"I know, look, take another fifty. So, what did she say?" He was already half out of his chair as he asked the question.

But with the boy's reply, he sat back down. "She screwed it up and said I must have the wrong person."

Tom's enthusiasm at having found Sybil wavered only slightly before he felt his grin return, spreading across his face. Reaching for another sheet and searching for the pen in his Hugo Boss suit, he scribbled out his newly formed idea;_ 'Don't tell me I should have waited longer m'lady?'_. "Here take her this."

He watched as the boy dove into the cold, walked up to Sybil, backed away as though in fear and ran back to his table. "I don't know what you did to her, but she's not happy. She told me to fuck off then left."

Tom made it out of his chair fully this time, out of the coffee house in fact, and onto the dangerous territory of Regent Street. In one way he was lucky he had the hoard of last minute Christmas shoppers for cover, but also unfortunate as they blocked his view of the woman he had ached for for too long to lose now. So, running in the general direction he expected Sybil to have taken, wincing slightly as his wounded thigh was pummelled by the crowd, he thanked his lucky stars when he saw a tumble of dark hair sweep into Oxford Street.

He felt utterly unstoppable as he knocked people aside in his race to get hold of her. And reaching out when he finally closed in on her, he came to the conclusion that he would have to kiss her before he could talk to her, too consumed by his elation at having her close again. Would she smile, laughing with joy? Would she cling to him, unwilling to let go? Would she kiss him back and, and- Burst into tears and drop to the floor?

Keeping his grasp on her forearm, Tom was able to stop Sybil falling fully to the pavement, and used his strength to pull her to her feet. "Sybil?" Still holding her tightly, Tom sidestepped when she pressed a fist to her mouth and gave an empty gag. "Are you alright? What's wr-?" Her attempt to shake him off only caused him to hold on with a tighter grip. "Is it because we're in-" He glanced over his shoulder. "-LL territory? Don't panic, it's too busy for anyone to-"

He slackened his claim on her arm when she finally spoke, well, screamed actually. "You're dead Tom! You're supposed to be dead!"

Her cry had not only curdled every river of blood in his body, but had also captured the attention of a few passers by, including two policeman. Smacking his free palm to his neck, Tom slid his other hand further down Sybil's arm and locked around her wrist. "Shh, look, I- just-!"

In a haze of utter pain and confusion, Tom was able to retain his grip on a hysterical Sybil, who seemed to have realised struggling would only make things worse. Weaving through the crowd was easier without the fuss of such resistance, but the form of her full weight, which she seemed to have no control over, was difficult to manoeuvre. Finally however, his head filled with her scream and the look on her face as he had turned her, Tom was able to sweep Sybil down an alley way and into an arched crevice built into its wall.

The sight before him was so pitiful he almost felt choked up himself. Sybil's mascara had created what could only be described as a map of the London underground down her face, her lips were dyed a watery grey from the streams, and she was shaking so violently, so uncontrollably that Tom, who was aware of her past problems, was certian she was on the verge of a- _Yup_, here was the panic attack.

"One- o- Tom- tw- you're dead Tom-!" What was she talking about?

Her breathing came so fast that he knew if he didn't calm her, she would probably collapse for real. So, remembering how she usually dealt with this, and how she seemed to be trying to now, he helped her along. "That's it- shh- One, two, three- Yeah, one-" Releasing one of her wrists, Tom took her face in his palm. "-two, three. Yeah, that's it, you've got- One, two-" Her body was definitely calming, and he felt brave enough to bring his other palm to her face. "One, two, three. One, two,-"

"-three. One, t-two, three." He felt a rush of- of something, when she covered his hands with hers and began to sob as the attack subsided.

"Sybil, _please_, tell me what's wrong." Knowing he was taking advantage of her weak state, but too desperate for some sort of comfort of his own to care, Tom leant forward and pressed a kiss to her creased forehead. Not backing away, his lips against her skin, he made his request again. "Please."

In what was definitely turning into the strangest day of his life, Tom was almost thrown off balance when Sybil slipped her trembling hands beneath his blazor to pull him into a suffocating hold. And he was trying, really trying, to connect to her tears, to understand her screams and sobs, but the feel of her form in his arms had him highly distracted. The last time he had held her like this, crying against him, gripping him tightly, he had- they had- he shook his head to the present.

Her face now burying into his chest, he wound an arm around her waist and tangled the other in her hair. "I- I thought- I thought you were dead."

And just like that, it was all clear. So everything he had believed too good to be true, really had been? He would have started a hunt on Mary there and then if he didn't have a sobbing woman clinging to him like a lifeline. Instead, he took a calming breath, and pushed her ever so slightly against the wall. "She didn't tell you she had let me go did she?"

It took another few minutes, in which the words '_Dead_', '_You_' and '_Tom_' were mumbled into his chest, before Sybil pulled her face away to look at him. "She killed you."

Resisting the urge to comeback with a sarcastic comment about how he was clearly not dead, and very much alive and partly insane with anger and worry, Tom locked his blue eyes with her weeping ones. "She didn't kill me Sybil. I'm here, I'm here with you."

"She didn't-? She shot you!"

Sarcastic comment restrained once again, Tom slipped the hand from her hair to cup her jaw, desperate to bring her around to his happiness at being reunited. "No. No, she shot _at_ me. She did catch me a little on the thigh but- What am I saying? No, she didn't shoot me Sybil. I'm alive."

He closed his eyes for the first time in what felt like hours when her cold thumbs traced his cheekbones, her little nails running along the sensitive skin beneath his eyes. He didn't need to have them open to know hers were dragging over every inch of his face; he felt her gaze like the lick of a flame. "You are aren't you? But how-? I don't-?"

Sensing a fresh wave of tears, Tom ploughed on with what he hoped would be a quick and straight forward story, desperately trying to push away his fury at Mary. "After I threw you out- I'm sorry for that by the way- Mary had me down-" He revisited the scene for a moment; down on his knees, hands behind his back, a gun to his temple. "-when I told her that killing me was fine as long as you were okay, that she wouldn't go for you too. I don't know why, maybe it was because she found us holding each other, or because you were crying or because I kissed you goodbye, but she suddenly started asking me if I really cared-"

"Tom, you are alive yeah?" He wasn't sure if Sybil was even aware she had asked a question, as she was suddenly looking at him inquisitively to continue.

"Yes, I am. So I told her exactly what I felt. I told her it wasn't casual, that it wasn't a trick or scheme, I told her that I- well what I told you before we got on the train. Then she asked if you had said the same to me, and when I told her no, well, I don't know why, maybe it's because if I was trying for sympathy I would have said yes, but I felt her gun pull away a bit-"

"But she shot you. Three times."

"No, she shot at_, at me,_ Sybil, three times." This was going to take some time, he could feel it. "I think- I think she realised that it- that _we_ were serious Syb. And I would like to say, that when she eventually pulled the gun away, she was doing the decent thing, but I know she was thinking that even if she killed me there and then, you would still have betrayed Lords and Ladies."

Tom nearly fell to the floor with relief when he saw a little clarity in Sybil's eyes. "Me? What do I have to do with her kill- not killing you?"

"Look." He slipped his hands beneath her coat and to her waist. "In a weird way, she cares about you Syb, and she's bloody dedicated to her side. And I think she wanted you to be able to redeem yourself. If she took the problem away by killing me, then you would have gotten away with it. But by keeping me alive, she gave you the chance to properly decide who's side you were on-"

"But-" Fresh tears began forming in Sybil's flickering eyes. "-she didn't tell me you were alive. She let me believe you were- you were d-dead."

Pressing his forehead to her own, Tom tried to keep his recently surfaced wrath at Mary from his voice. "Well, she told me to fuck off home to Ireland. She told me she would tell you that I had gone away, and that way, her words exactly, you could _use the calm to consider_. So then, if you realised you wanted me, you could come to me and face the consequences, and if you didn't, well, I guess the idea was that you were a loyal LL member again and I would come home to Satan's and end up killed by one of your lot eventually anyway."

"She didn't T-Tom. She didn't say you had gone away. I- All week- I-" Her tears had stopped but her breathing was still a flurry, so Tom pressed his lips to her soft neck, hoping to calm her rushing pulse and thought of how he would have felt to believe Sybil dead and gone forever.

"Shh, shh." He kissed her neck and felt her relax a little. "I should have known she would do something like that. Before I legged it, I asked if she was confident she could bring you round, and she said she'd _certainly try._ I guess making you believe I was dead rather than swanning it about in Ireland was a pretty sure bet that you would choose her side."

"Then, then why not just kill you? For real? She didn't did she?"

"No, Sybil, I'm _definitely_ here. I guess, I guess there was always the chance that you could turn around and still pick me even though I was dead." The idea had his skin prickling. "Can you imagine the shame to Lords and Ladies if you did that? That you would rather a dead man than them? No, I think she was hedging her bets, so even if you did turn around and say that, then she could keep Lords and Ladies reputation by making them think you had known I was alive all along. Does that make sense?"

For a minute or two, Sybil simply stared at him, blinking slowly, and he began to form a more simpler way of explaining to her in his head when she began to nod. "So, you're alive? Mary didn't kill you? You're here, aren't you? You're not dead?"

The end of her sentence was clipped with laughter, a sound that had a warm tingle running through Tom's body. "I'm here. I promise."

"The shots were a trick?"

"Ahh, well, yes and no. She gave me ten seconds to run. And uhh, she meant it. Cos after ten seconds, I started getting shot at. She caught me on my leg, but nothing major." He grinned at her and her return smile had him weak at the knees. "You should know Sybil, I didn't leave London. I stayed, just laid low. I wanted to be with you again, to be around when you decided it was safe to come looking for me. I just couldn't bear the thought of being so far away from you when I knew we could have a chance... That we might have our chance to be together."

o o o

Sybil thought she had past the worst, what with the panic attack in reaction to discovering the man she had next expected to see a fuzzy photo of on the news to be alive, but she had been wrong. What was worse was that the man she thought to be dead, suddenly expected them to be together, to make a stand as a couple, and the only result of such a thing really _would_ be death, only, the permanent kind this time. And she could not, would not, go through that again.

"Tom I-" She what? She was glad he was alive but now needed him to go? She couldn't be happier he had survived but couldn't have anything more to do with him? She knew he loved her, but she had yet to decide if he was worth it? That was what she should say, she knew it. Now was the right time to end this. He was alive, Mary would think she was over him, they could return to their own gang roles, could accept that what they had almost been just wasn't meant to be. Together, they had played with fire and been burned, but now they had been offered the chance to come back from the ashes...separately. They should take this offer, they really _should_.

So why, _why_, did she suddenly ask him her next question? "Do you love me?"

The shock she felt at having asked the question was reflected back in Tom's eye ten times over, but while her shock was of utter surprise, his was of delight; as though she had given him a chance to finally let out all that he had held back. "Yeah. Yeah I do."

And it happened again, she spoke without thinking. It seemed she needed answers, no matter how bad of an idea she knew it was, how it could complicate things. "But- but when you told me, you were dying. I've seen- I've heard people say things they don't mean when they thought- when they thought- Well, did you mean it or...?"

She suddenly felt very small, yet protected, when Tom slid his arms so tightly around her he could probably reach out to himself and nuzzled his nose on hers. "I said it because it was my last chance to, not because I thought it wouldn't have consequences."

"So... You meant it?" Her heart was racing, beating like a little red drum, and the voice in her conscience was getting quiter and quieter, especially when she slipped her fingers beneath his collar. "You love me?"

"Mmm hmm." She felt the vibration of the sound on her thumbs. "Sybil? What is it?"

Having just turned away from his advancing kiss, Sybil wondered how to go about what had stopped her accepting it. His inquisitive, and slightly put out eyes, had her smiling before long, and she felt the dried black tears on her face crack. "What- what about Gwen?"

"Gwen? Really? You're asking about _Gwen_? Jesus, you women. Bloody nightmare the lot of you! Do you have any idea what you just put me through? And now you're asking about Gwen?" He was laughing now, pushing her against the wall in an attempt to get closer. "Forget her- Sybil just let me kiss you!"

She was on the verge of giving in, some magnetic field drawing her closer to him, but the undeniable female jealously within her was too strong a barrier. "Tom, do you have any idea what _I've_ been through? I'm serious. Gwen?"

Sybil stood firm as Tom sighed in exasperation, a slight twinkle in his eye. "She's probably off somewhere making love to a tub of Ben&Jerrys."

"You finished with her?" She tried to the keep the wicked grin from her face, but found it impossible.

"I didn't need to." He kissed her jaw. "Someone gave me a lovebite, and my girlfriend was _pretty sure_ it wasn't her..."

What followed could only be described as the best kiss of Sybil's life. It started when she finally tilted her head to meet Tom's desperate advances, yet, she found the moment they touched lips was anything but. The first press was so soft, so chaste, that she wouldn't be sure they had even made contact if not for the swell of her bruised and battered heart. And all she wanted, _craved_, was for him to kiss her again. She would not move to him though, as each time he leant into her would act as proof of his existance, of his life. And lean in he did. Over and over, scattering kisses to her lips, jaw, cheek, nose, neck, making every spot hot and tingly. She, however, simply closed her eyes to heighten the intensity of each brush, too lost in his embrace to react.

Before long though, his gentle caresses began to linger a little longer, and she could feel damp little spots to her skin after each touch of his tongue. But it was not until he pushed against her even harder to gain a better angle to work on her neck with a little more haste did she decide she wanted to kiss him, and badly. So, taking his face in her hands, she opened her eyes, still struggling to believe they had just met his own, and waited for him to take the hint; she still needed that proof. He gave it.

The moment they finally kissed, Sybil felt something she never thought she would feel again; warm. It was impossible not to with his hands beneath her shirt, rough fingertips grazing beneath the waist of her skirt, moulding his lips to hers, tracing the soft inner skin with a light tongue, sighing and groaning, kissing her like he never thought he would be able to again. Huh, right.

And though he may have been leading before, Sybil couldn't stop herself giving as good as she got. Her fingers curled around his shirt collar, tugged at his tie, pulled him if possible closer. She leaned in, inhaling his Tom scent, smiling into their kiss as she gave hint that she wanted it to be slow, and deep, dragging her tongue, pulling his hair. Her stomach was flipping, and bouncing, and twirling, and jumping, and before long she started to laugh.

"I honestly think this is the most insane I've ever seen you." Smirked Tom, using a thumb to wipe off the remnants of her kiss from his curved lips.

"I'm s-sorry! It's just you were dead, but now you're not, and you're here-"

"Yes I am."

"- and I didn't think I'd ever see you again." The kiss and laughter had her a little breathless.

"In-" Tom pulled her into another deep embrace. "-sane"

"S'cuse me?"

Feeling like a naughty school girl caught behind the bike shed, Sybil turned to the croaky voice, leaning forward a little to press herself to Tom's jaw. "Yes?"

The straggly haired, grimy looking man before them shuffled on his feet slightly, glancing down at the small Jack Russell cocking his leg up to the wall. "This, uhh, this is my spot."

For a moment Sybil didn't understand his meaning, until he held up a small guitar. "Oh right, I- umm-" She looked up at a grinning Tom.

She closed her eyes briefly when he ran a palm through her hair and whispered, "I have a robbery to get on with."

Her lip found it's way between her teeth for a moment as she mumbled. "I have an arson attack to commit."

And then, like everything was normal, like really normal, like they were normal, a normal couple, they kissed briefly then parted ways, each taking a direction down the alley way. Sybil had her mouth tightened to supress her grin, wiping her hands roughly down her face to wipe away her smuged tears when she heard the street busker pinging his guitar and singing his song, almost drowning Tom's shout.

_'And If I start a commotion'_

"Sybil!"

_'I run the risk of losing you'_

"What?"

_'And that's worse'_

"What are you doing for Christmas?"

_'Ever fallen in love with someone'_

"Nothing!"

__'Ever fallen in love'__

"Fancy a trip to Ireland?"

_'In love with someone'_

"O-okay!"

_'Ever fallen in love'_

"Good. Oh Sybil!"

_'In love with someone'_

"What?

_'You shouldn't have fallen in love with'_

"I love you."

He shrugged casually in his suit and Sybil felt a pang in her stomach as he gave a sideways grin and slid into the busy London street. He loved her. Fact. Did she love him? Maybe. But even if she did... was it enough?

_Please Review... If I broke your heart last week ^^_

_Am I forgiven for last weeks chapter now? Say I am! In the week, btvs told me I should see it as a compliment that people were affected by my writing, which I have done, though I am sorry to those who cried! Hopefully this redeems me, and I hope Christmas Day will too..._

_Next Monday's huns =)_

_( www. youtube watch?v=vv0U4Tmj5AE&feature=plcp Amazing video based on this chapter by btvs )_


	15. You and Me

_Chapter Song - You and Me by Lifehouse_

_' There's something about you now, I can't quite figure out '_

_. . . . . . . . . ._

Unnerving. Dangerous. Frightening. Worth it?

Sybil had gone to Grantham with her head held high, desperate to convince herself that what she was about to request was the truth. She had strutted into his office, her intention to be the woman he had created, and had swiftly requested a Christmas break. He had peered up from his writing in disbelief, shocked that after two gang years she had decided to see her family; Grantham knew more personal information about his gang than she had expected. His reply had been the slightest nod of the head, to which she had crumbled a little, asking him if it was really alright that she could go. His only question had been for the knowledge of how long she would be gone; she expected two days. Then, just like that, he had gone back to his work, she had bid him goodbye, and slid from his office with utter ease. The entire experience had been most unnerving.

She had no way of contacting Tom. So the few hours after her request to Grantham, the day before Christmas Eve, had been spent scaling the borders of known SS territory, keeping her head low and her eyes peeled. The hand on her Glock possessing handbag also brought more than a little relief. But after a few hours she had accepted defeat, and her hesitant steps turned to powerful struts as she wandered back into the parts of London she knew best. And it was ploughing through the last minute shoppers of London in these busy parts that she found herself wandering down _that_ alley. She found it odd that she was not surprised to see him there waiting. Dangerous, so dangerous.

They had travelled to Ireland separately. Sybil had been determined to cut off every possible trail. She didn't suspect she was being followed, but almost three years in a gang taught you that anything was possible and that better safe than sorry could be lifesaving advice. So she had not driven, but taken coaches, multiple coaches, to Liverpool, and even on the ferry she was tempted to throw herself into the sea halfway to catch another. Eventually though, Dublin came close enough that even if she did chuck herself overboard, she would proably just end up swimming to the shore anyway. She spent her Christmas eve in the dock hotel, not knowing that Tom too lay in a hotel bed not a mile away, thinking of tomorrow. Her dreams were haunted with the frightening image of blasting guns.

It was over now though, the request, the planning, the journey. In fact, all that was left was to meet Tom. And as Sybil clicked gracefully out onto the pavement of Dublin, carrying only her kid leather Givenchy travel bag, she wondered where on earth she was going to find hi- Ahh, problem solved.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me?" As she halted abruptly as the sight infront of her, she failed to notice the gradually forming line of wide eyes and open mouths alongside her.

She watched as Tom pushed up from his casual lean against his slick black Bugatti Veyron, smiling at her as he used his free hand to whip away the sunglasses protecting him from the silvery bright Irish sun. In his occupied hand he held a sign scrawled with her name, the letters leaning slightly indicated this had been a last minute idea, and she could not help the little smile that grew on her lips.

"Miss Crawley is it?" He asked, winking as she tapped over to him.

For a moment she felt a little stunned, and stupid, when she noticed his loose Bench jeans and Abercrombie&Fitch hoodie. He looked good, like, really good, but very casual. "Why bother with the casual clothes when you've brought _that_ out here?"

Tom bowed his head and grinned up at her. "As far as the family are concerned I'm taking care of it for a friend."

"And they'll buy that will they? That you're babysitting a car because a friend can't leave it at home?" Some of the surrounding crowd, mostly men, were edging around the quater of a million pounds worth of metal.

And it was to these men, some now tilting phones against the sunlight, that Tom gestured to. "Yeah, I reckon they will. Now come here."

Sliding her arms around Tom's neck as his slipped to her waist, Sybil expected embarrassment to creep upon her at the public embrace, but it did not come. Instead, after they pulled back from their greeting kiss, it was herself that placed a hand to his jaw to initiate another. "Merry Christmas."

"Speaking of which-" He kissed her again, and again she was the one that lingered, before he pulled away and opened the door to her. "-do you want your present now, or later?"

"Now." Worth it.

o o o

Noticing that Sybil had her eyes following the rolling fields outside her window, Tom risked another quick glimpse at her before smiling back at the road. Idiot man. "I won't tell you again Tom, keep your eyes on the road."

Now he was laughing. "Sorry it's just- well- you know."

"Yeah I do." At her words, he tried, and failed, to keep his eyes ahead. "Tom! For fucks sake I do want to get my present with all my limbs in tact you know!"

He slid a hand behind her headrest as he leant back to reverse up the street. "For fucks sake? Very impassioned for someone who hasn't actually bought anything for their-" He immediately stopped and chanced a glance at Sybil, who he also found guilty of shifty eyes.

They came into a swift park as they kept their eyes locked. Sybil broke the silence before long however, yet her eyes were no longer trained on his. "Boyfriend? I mean- Well- I suppose we _could_ go down the whole man-I-should-have-avoided-at-all-costs route, but..."

"Boyfriend it is." Tom knew this was a big moment between them, but he did not want to address it, not now. Now he had the woman he was in love with in his home town, he was elated. The last thing he wanted to do was complicate things with titles and decisions. He wasn't an idiot, this time they had stolen, these two days they could count on together, well, they were the honeymoon period. Two days of happiness before the real choices were made, two days that would not be marred with the worry of the dangers that would follow them, two days where they could be, or try to be, Tom and Sybil, two days before the real world pulled them back and put them to the test. "Now stay here, I've got to get this present, alright?"

Ten minutes later Tom returned to the car, knowing that the pet carrier in his arms had already ruined half the surprise, and just about managed to wedge himself and the box into the drivers seat; Bugatti's were not made for travel.

"Tom? What...?"

Her hesitant voice suddenly had him feeling anxious. "Well, get it out."

He shuffled a little in his seat as Sybil opened the caged door, her blue eyes peering up into his poker face as she reached inside. Tom found he had to look away when she pulled out the bundle of fur; why was present giving such an awkward situation?

"Oh my gosh!" He heard giggles erupt from within her at the sight. "It's the ugliest thing I've ever seen!"

"_What_?" Oh right, shit, present ruined. "I thought, I thought women liked fluffy dogs? I mean-we can take it back in now if you-" Her giggles were louder now, and the sound had his ears a little red. "Stop alright! I'll take her back!"

The moment he reached out however, the puffy puppy was held out of his grasp. "No Tom, I want her- I just- Oh Tom she has such an ugly- ugly little fa-face!"

The sounds of laughter that had momentarily irritated him were now infectious and he too laughed as Sybil held up the scrunched little dog. "You still want her though?"

"I do, I-" His tensed heart released a little as he was pulled into a kiss. "What is she?"

"It's called uhh-" He pushed up from the seat a little to pull some papers from his hoodie. "-a Chow Chow."

"A Chow Chow? Even the name is ugly! Aww, you poor little thing." And as Sybil leant forward to press a kiss to the puppies smoky colour nose and golden ears, Tom felt a rush of smug achievement. She was won over. "You're going to need a pretty name to make up for all this ugly, aren't you pup?"

His eyes taking in the wonderful sight that was the natural motherly protection in Sybil's demeanour, Tom began his explanation. "I thought a dog would be good, you know, for when you have- Well if you have a _bad_ night. You won't be alone then see? After the other day, seeing you like that... I- well- She might be ugly Sybil, but I bet she'll be great for when you need a hug."

"That's- Thank you Tom, really, I don't know what to say."

All her attention was suddenly on him and he felt a little flustered under her sincere, gratified gaze. So, trying to diffuse the sudden emotion building in the car, emotion that could not be addressed at this moment, Tom ran a thumb across her cheek, and revved the engine for the next half an hours drive. "Don't say anything. Just- just hold my hand will you? I don't know if you can tell, but I'm shitting it at the thought of seeing my family again."

o o o

"Tom? Tom are you alright?"

Sybil edged forward a little on the Bugatti's leather seat, filling the car with the sound of the squeeking movement as she angled the puppies cage, trying to catch Tom's blank eyes. She felt her eyebrow quirking as though attached to an invisable string and she pressed her lips together as she considered the suddenly tense man before her, gripping the steering wheel and twisting his white knuckles back and forth. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"No you're not. But putting this off won't make it any easier. So look-" She breathed a sigh of relief as she unhinged the Bugatti door and swung her legs free. "-let's just get inside. You can introduce me to your Mum, your Dad, your sisters, your brother, that weird cousin J...?"

"Jase."

"That's it, Jase. Then we'll have a nice Christmas dinner and if you want to leave straight after then I'll fake a panic attack- I'm sure I've had enough to work a technique- then we'll run off to the hotel early."

His blank eyes turned to her for a moment to wink at her final statement, but she could still see the worry in his eyes. "Thanks, it's just-"

"They're your family Tom." Sybil ran a comforting palm along his jeans. "And they're waiting for you."

"But are they? Are they really _my_ family?" Tom reached out for her hand and Sybil instantly twined her fingers around his, squeezing as he ran his hand through his hair. "Last time I saw them I was a London cabbie recovering from a heroin addiction and now I'm a gangster, maybe a killer, who regularly accepts drug dealing into my morning routine. I might be the same bloke, but I'm not _their_ Tom, not the Tom they knew."

Sybil mentally cursed the tight spaced car and slipped out, placing the newly christened Isis on her seat then walked around to Tom's side and opened his door. Kneeling before him, she ran the back of her hand over his shaven cheek. "You're right, yes, you're not the Tom they knew, but you're still their son, still their brother, and they probably miss you. I don't even have to pretend to understand, because I really do. I haven't seen my family in almost four years Tom, and because of that I'm not about to let you forget yours."

"Jesus Syb, when did you prepare that?"

"About the same time I prepared the back up that at any moment my new baby is going to need the toilet, and her daddies Veyron is plan A."

"Fuck that." Sybil stood up laughing as Tom grabbed the carrier and placed it on the pavement as he jumped out the car. "Are we doing this?"

"How is it you're scared of going home, but not of dying?" Sybil noticed the change in atmosphere as though a stage hand had appeared infront of her waving the 'Silence' sign. "This is no different Tom. It's a scary situation, there's no turning back, and- and I'm here with you."

o o o

It had been harder than he had expected, _much_ harder. His mothers hug, his fathers smile, his sisters squeels, his brothers shout. Once familiar touches, now sights and sounds that suddenly felt foreign and unwanted. But as he fell into each embrace and returned every welcome, he felt Sybil's thumb brush softly along the fingers curled around her own, and he managed to take the greetings with a convincing smile.

And while he felt weight of all his crimes upon his shoulders with each glance around the home he had grown up in, laughed in, fought in, made mistakes in, he could not help but notice how Sybil seemed to take to the family introduction like a gangster to burglary. She smiled with each handshake, blushed at each compliment, and accepted almost five different offers of tea with a gushed thank you. If Tom had ever felt doubt in his love, this moment would have washed it all away.

Four hours later found Tom and Sybil crammed so closely together around a table of twenty that he was able to hold her hand in his without much question. They had almost been parted at the table, but it was at his insistence, not Sybil's, that they sit together. He needed her, whilst she seemed perfectly fine laughing and joking with the family who had watched him go to hell and back. It wasn't that he felt he would crumble without her, in fact he knew he wouldn't as he had spent the majority of the dinner answering questions about London to the family while Sybil listened earnestly to his sisters talk on the women's rights she was studying in college, but having her close kept him grounded.

"What is it with you two and history?"

Sybil's voice among the rambles of full mouth conversations and shattering clatter of cracker prizes brought Tom out of his trance state "Huh?"

"You and Cassidy, both history addicts I hear?" Sybil gestured between him and his sister as she took a sip of her wine.

Cassidy, who was just as entralled with Sybil as Sybil seemed to be with her, leant forward. "It's because of Tom that I like it really. Always reading history books and leaving them around for me to find. He's the reason for my women's rights obsession."

Tom felt himself falter for a moment. Having his little sister talk to him so easily had him suddenly unsure of how to handle himself, he hadn't spoken to anyone so innocent in quite some time. But of course, Sybil read him like a book, and as she pushed her thigh against his, he felt words fall from his mouth. "I take that as a compliment Cass. Though it was never about women and the vote for me."

"Oh?" Tom felt his heart pang with pure admiration as Sybil rolled her eyes at his sister as though they were lifetime friends.

"Alright girls don't gang up on me! In my defence it wasn't freedom for Ireland either." He leant across and accepted a second pint of Guiness from a tinsel covered cousin. "No, I was always fascinated by the gap between the aristocracy and the poor."

Cassidy leant even closer over the din of their father and uncles laughter. "Oh you might like this then Tom, in history class the other week we studied an old Edwardian diary. It was written by a Lady who supposedly had a romance with her chauffeur- What Mum? Sure, I'll help."

As his sister clambered awkwardly beneath the table to avoid winding around multiple chairs, Tom shuffled a little when his _girlfriend_ raised a hand to his chin, and pulled him closer so she could whisper in his ear. "Is that what you were into then Tom? Closing the gap between people? Disregarding titles?"

He raised his eyebrows at her bold gesture, but pushed his face into her palm just the same. "Indeed Miss. Crawley. And it's a topic I have yet to lose interest in."

Their kiss was met with a roar of disgusted snorts and girlish giggles, and Tom felt himself tugged from the table by his brother as Sybil's laughter joint the rest. Coming to stop in the kitchen, he suddenly felt the ache in his limbs at the stress of being without the stroke of a delicate thumb, but grinned at his mother and sister as best he could.

"You can't start kissing at the table Tom." His sister snorted as she pressed her lips the bundle of fur that was Isis cradled to her shoulder

He crossed his arms in a mock sulk as he leant against the counter, and turned to his mother with guilty eyes as she spoke her next words. "You're different you know Tom."

Oh God, Sybil, he needed Sybil. "Different? How?"

His mother bent down to reach into the back of the cupboard. "Oh, I don't know, just different."

Angry? Cold? Controlled? Serious? Edgy? "Cumon Mum, you can't say I'm different then leave me hanging."

He held his breath as his mother rose from the floor, a stack of mismatched bowls in her arms wobbling slightly as she slid a stray hair behind her ear. "Happy, Tom. You seem happy, very happy."

"Oh, right."

o o o

"Shh, Tom, shh! I can't find the stai- Fuck!" Sybil pressed both palms to her mouth as she tumbled up the staircase.

Tom, who had just managed to fall beside her rather than on her, buried his face into her neck to muffle his laughter from the rest of his family who had already succumbed to sleep. "I think we found them!"

Wrapping her arms around his neck as they crumpled to the bottom of the carpeted steps, Sybil bit her lip to keep back her giggles. "We really should have thought about turning the light on."

"But we wouldn't have been able to get away with _this_ if we had..."

Sybil took in a quick, surprised breath of air as Tom's lips hungrily met her own. And she was surprised when he skipped his usual steps and ran his tounge slowly, but deliberately into her mouth. She did not falter for long however, but grabbed a fist of his hair to pull him even deeper into their already passionate, desperate kiss.

The sound of the soft clicks their lips parting then meeting made, and the way Tom had rolled a hand into her hair, running the other beneath her shirt, had Sybil involuntarily arching her back, pushing her body against his chest and tangling her legs between his. She knew, well _hoped_, this would not go any further, but having Tom so close and uncontrolled was a wonderful contrast to the day in which his family had demanded her attention and probed into his life, and she wasn't ready to stop. Especially when he moved his warm tongue to her collar bone and a pressing hand between her thighs.

"Shit." Tom groaned as Sybil felt him pull away to answer his ringing phone. "Hello? Hello? Hold on, signal's better in the other room."

Sybil nodded as Tom mouthed '_last room on the left_' and silently edged back into the living room containing a snoring Jase, who had unintentionally offered them the spare room by passing out, and a wimpering Isis who was missing her mum. Knowing that if she didn't get up soon, Tom's return would probably lead to sex in his parents hallway, Sybil crawled up the stairs and managed to scrape along the walls in darkness before she came to the last door on left.

Ten minutes later and Tom had yet to return, so Sybil, now in a skimpy Ann Summers nightdress, decided to check her gang phone. She wasn't an idiot, she knew Tom was on the phone to one of Satan's, and the thought had her wondering about her own gang. As the screen lit up with various missed calls and messages, something not rare in the gang world where back up was usually needed or questions answered, Sybil opened her most recent text from Edith, recieved 15 minutes previous.

_'BBC news wishes you a Merry Christmas.'_

Her brow creased into curious folds as she reached out for the remote on the bedside table. She found her fingers frantically scrambling for the volume button when the T.V threatened to wake up the entire house, but she soon had the situation under control and flicked to BBC. It took a moment for her to register the sight infront of her, but there was only one reason for the blaring flash of helicopters in the night sky and the whirring blue of an ambulance dazzling the dark; murder.

_'-probably within the last hour. Three gun shots were heard just after 2am and all we know at the moment is that the victim and attacker could be involved in some of London's most notorious gangs. As you can see- I'm sorry, just- Ah, it seems this may be a fatality. Police are still searching for the possible killer but have yet to find any resu- Yes, it's been confirmed, the young gun victim has died-'_

Sybil wasn't sure that when she turned the television off it was because she couldn't stand to hear any more or because Tom had entered the room and she didn't want him subjected to the breaking news. She tried to keep her voice calm as she whispered to him across the dim lit room. "Everything okay?"

Smiling in spite of her suddenly wary disposition as she caught Tom looking her up and down, Sybil crossed her legs on the soft bed. "Yeah it's fine. Gwen was asking if I'd seen William but the phone kept cutting out so I gave up trying to understand."

_William_. She had the choice of questioning two names,the first to confirm her suspicion that his friend may be the victim of one of her fellows wrath, the second because of the coil of envy twining around her heart. She chose the latter sin. "Gwen?"

Tom smirked at her words as he flicked off the light and tweaked the curtain to spill a little moonlight through the shimmering glass. "It was gang business Syb."

"Mmm." Sybil allowed Tom to pin her down on the single mattress, his lips trailing her jaw, before she made the admission she expected would not receive a welcome reaction. "Tom, mmm, Tom? I'm not having sex with you in your parents house, it's too weird."

He pulled away instantly and she felt hot under his disbelieving gaze. "You're kidding right?" She shook her head, her teeth biting down on her own cheek. "Seriously?" She felt a swirl in her gut when he kissed her quickly, his lips curved into a smirk. "Because if I'm right, someone owes me a Christmas present..."

Sybil let out a noise of fake disgust as he laughed and fell to her side, a difficult feat in a small single bed. "I see the art of seduction is lost on the Irish."

o o o

Half an hour later Tom felt his eyes getting heavier, drooping shut with every sensitive stroke across his cheek from Sybil's smooth nails. The entire room was lit with the silver glow of the moon, which meant every time he re-opened his eyes, Sybil's glittered into his vision. She was spread across his chest, her elbows on his shoulders, her fingers on his face; he thought his heart was going to burst. She seemed wide awake, unable to sleep, and he wondered if she, like him, felt that today had been too perfect, and that something was about to go wrong.

"You know, my mum told me I was different earlier." Tom felt his skin prickle as Sybil slid over him fully, so he now had to look directly upward to keep eye contact. "Told me I looked happy."

He kissed her palm as she stilled her hands either side of his face. "See, it wasn't all as bad as you thought. Your life hasn't made you unhappy Tom."

"My life?" His hands slipped beneath her silk nightdress, caressing her back as he tried to ignore the barred stirrings in his body.

"Well-" He gripped her skin tighter as he felt her lips on his own. "-you have money now, so you can splash out on all the cars you like and gamble senseless and whatever else. And if you're like me-"

"Syb-"

"-being able to do as you please is great. Did you know since being in Lords and Ladies I've learned two languages? And I've actually become pretty great at archery, and I know how crazy you are about your street-"

"Syb-"

"-racing. And let's be honest, the travel is amazing. I've been to Japan, New York, Australia... Where have you-?"

"Sybil!" Tom spun her over in half a second so he now hovered over her. He knew what she was trying to do; she was trying to make him believe his mothers words, that being in Satan's Servants had made him a happier person. She just didn't realise what his mother had _really_ meant, not like he had. "Sybil, she meant you. I'm happier... because I'm with you."

"Oh, I see."

o o o

Another half an hour later, when Sybil found her naked body spread over Tom's, she wondered when she had changed her mind about letting him make love to her. Knowing however, that she didn't really have the energy to remember exactly, she began running her lips along the warm, hard chest beneath her, and recalled each moment instead.

She thought of how his gentle hands had eased off her nightdress in one fluid movement, of how she had dug her nails into the back of his neck, eager for him to move closer, all the way. She relived each kiss he had placed upon her; along her ribs, to the soft skin of her forearms, the jutting bones of her hip, down between her legs...

Ceasing her current presses to his chest, she exhaled at the memory of that last kiss. She felt her skin bristle as she recalled how his actions, soft pleasure turning to vehement intensity, had made her bite down on her bunched up fist to keep from crying out. And with this recollection she wondered how she had found the energy to pull him up to her and turn him over.

She _had_ managed however, and now she reflected, with another kiss above his beating heart, of how they had both groaned with relief when she lowered onto him, wrapped in the warm duvet, moving slowly, _so_ slowly. She knew there wasn't an inch of his skin she hadn't tenderly caressed in time with her rise and fall above him, and knew that her eyes had closed with each touch and stroke to her body from him.

Shivering with the memory of the moment she had begun to unravel, Sybil continued to taste the toned muscle of Tom's shoulder as the final images played through her mind. She had begun to move faster, lowering onto him with more pressure, when she felt herself coming apart. And in an attempt to muffle her resultant cry, she had pushed their entwined hands above his head, into the pillow, as she placed her mouth to his. Mere seconds later he too had been murmuring an unintelligible noise against her lips, pulling her against him in a mass of hot, tangled limbs.

She knew he was asleep, but if she didn't say the line now she thought she might choke on it. "Tom? Tom... I think I lov-" But as her looped LL brushed his stamped SS, the realisation hit that tomorrow he may not be able to say it back, and the last words never managed to escape her.

_Pwwwease Review ^^_

_Okay, I know us Fanfic authors mention it all the time, but seriously, the reviews for last weeks chapter were amazing, so uplifting! Take it from someone who often worries that her writing isn't going to come out the way she wanted, seeing words such as 'phenomenal' and 'enthralling' to describe the story really does shove some worries aside. Thank you, all of you =)  
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_Next Monday anyone?_

_(check out last weeks chapter and the week before for 2 new KYEC videos by btvs and lilabut)_


	16. You Can Run

_Chapter Song - You Can Run, But We'll Find You by Matchbook Romance._

_' Was it everything you hoped it would be? What kept your world spinning, left you dizzy?'_

_. . . . . . . . . ._

Tom cracked his knuckles and stretched out his legs as the crooked land of Cuba came into view beneath him, buildings and sand scattered along the glitterling blue Atlantic ocean. He pressed his fingers to the glass of the areoplane window as he swirled and sipped his tumbler of Cognac brandy. As the warm, copper liquid slipped down his throat, he felt the glass taken from his grasp.

"Sorry Sir, we're coming into land very soon."

Tom nodded at the smartly dressed air hostess as she smiled down at him with a glint in her eye before she continued her path down the purple carpet of the first class cabin. It was only when she was a few feet ahead of him that he noticed she had dark hair. Hmm. He wondered what Sybil was doing now. Probably sat drinking and laughing with her Lord and Ladies fellows, celebrating the very event Satan's Servants had been grieving. For a moment he felt a bristle of hatred deep in his stomach, but it was just a quickly drowned with a wave of something less agressive. He wished they had parted on better terms. With their lives always on edge, with tensions now so high, he feared he would never see her again to talk things over.

"You know, we still have ten minutes of flight time. I reckon you can just about fit in your membership application for the mile high club." Thomas smirked at Tom, who he had clearly noticed following the air hostesses movements.

Tensing at the suggestion, the image of Sybil becoming even more vivid in his mind, Tom stared Thomas down. "First of all, I'm already a member. And second, I think I'll pass on this occasion. Unlike you Thomas, I'm able to keep focused on the job at hand."

It was Tom's turn to smirk as Thomas's face turned red then white before he gave up glaring back and looked across at his television. Tom kept his eyes on his fellow gang member a little while longer before shaking his head and straightening his jacket.

When Carson had left for a new year break in Cuba a few days before Christmas, he had appointed Thomas in charge; something Tom had found difficult to swallow when asking for his trip to Ireland. He had been surprised then when Thomas had only debated giving in to his request for a mere ten minutes, but then again he suspected that himself had almost been Carson's choice for leader, and Thomas was keen to ward off competition. But looking back, he now knew Thomas would give anything to take it back and let Tom have the title, for it was under his watch as leader that William had lost his life.

The rest of journey, the swift exit from the airport, the quick march into the stifling Cuban heat, the slide into the awaiting Chrysler 300c, the tense drive to Carson's glistening white mansion, seemed to last forever. Tom wasn't sure, that when they glided up the hedge lined gravel road, that the sweat under his arms, down his back and on his palms was from the heavy heat or anxious apprehension. If it was the latter, he wasn't really sure why he felt that way. He had done nothing wrong, he had had permission to leave England when William had been killed, it wasn't his fault Thomas was an incompetent prick.

With those thoughts offering brief comfort, Tom swung open his door the moment the Chrysler had finished its glide through the high rail security gate and up to the front of Carson's huge, white-washed, intricately tiled villa and stepped out into the blazing heat. Without looking back, Tom tapped up the swirled marble steps, slipping off his suddenly heavy grey blazer and did not stop at the front doors, knowing that they would be opened for him.

"Good morning Sir. If you would-" Tom obliged to the waiting, trembling, tanned maid and took from her silver tray: a small gun, a Swiss army knife and a length of black wire. The vulnerability he had been suffering due to airport security eased slightly as he slipped the knife into his pocket and coiled the wire around his gun possessing palm.

"Tom. Thomas." Tom whipped his head round at the sound of Carson's voice as Thomas picked up a few weapons of his own from a second maid's tray.

"Good morning Carson." Murmured Tom as his boss finished his journey down the left hand side of the grand double staircase and clicked across the lobby towards them. "Do you want to talk to us now or-"

In under two seconds, Tom's pistol was torn from his grasp and the sound of the bullet echoed around the large, sparkling entrance hall like the smashing of a thousand glasses.

o o o

Sipping champagne infront of Grantham felt wrong, devious, but noting that he too had joined his gang in their opening toast made Sybil feel a little less guilty. It had been a while since she had spent an evening in the Downton Casino, her nights often ruled with surveillance jobs or time alone to relax with a glass of wine, so the flurry of tuxedos and shimmering evening gowns almost had the empty room she was used to unrecognisable.

Taking another molten gold sip, subconsciously turning her head from her boss, Sybil smoothed down her mint green, feather skirt cocktail dress and pulled on a fallen tenril of her messy but intricately styled hair then began a smooth glide around the buzzing casino. The majority of the sharp jackets and slinkly silks were here for the party, for the gambling, the drinking, the glamour, the connections, but Sybil knew that very few members of the laughing, tipsy hoard knew the real reason for Grantham's glossy event.

Most believed Grantham, the powerful business man with the shady side to be ignored, was simply indulging his wealth and power in a wonderful night of drinks and gambling. But the others, them, herself, knew, they _knew_. Mary in her black Chanel gown, Carlisle smoking his Toro Maduro cigar, Cora acting the attending hostess, they knew. Anthony trying to catch Edith's eye, Edith blushing from the action, Isabel holding five conversations at once, and Matthew, well Matthew being busy enjoying _his_ night, they knew.

Tonight was the celebration of Matthew's claim of a Satan's Servants life, the grand gesture presented to the man prepared to kill for Lords and Ladies. And since Jame's take of Servant Charlie's life had been almost instantly requited with his own murder, it seemd that Matthew's celebration had been doubled in extravagance. Sybil halted her float around the poker table with that thought. She had led her team to believe Jame's had killed Charlie, to offer him a last honour and herself a false lease of innocence. But if she hadn't told that lie, then she too would have undergone a party like this one, a party whose invites might well have been written in blood. The thought made her sick.

The sound of Mary's cold laughter shook her from her reverie. "Well we've always been superior, and it was about time they were reminded. Two-one Richard, two-one."

Grabbing the sleeved arm of her accomplice as she sauntered away from a leering Carlisle, Sybil drew Mary close. "Why haven't you told anyone?"

"I'm sorry darling?" Mary quirked an eyebrow as her perfect cheekbones caught the room shimmering chandelier light.

Sybil drew a breath. "About Tom. You say two-one, but it's three-one isn't it?"

Mary's features sharpened as she batted her eyelashes. "Yes but- but do you really want me to tell Grantham I murdered your lover the Servant?"

"No, of course not. But you don't have to mention that he was anything to me. So why have you kept it a secret?" Watching Mary squirm as she tried to avoid admitting to Sybil that her Irish lover was very much alive and kicking felt gratifying, powerful. It felt good to have her lose face; all night she had been applauding Lords and Ladies members on their one upmanship, clearly believing Sybil to be ignorant to the boasts that did not quite add up.

"Why does it matter Sybil? _Missing_ him?" Her words came cold and venomous, and Sybil's initial reaction was to mention how right Lavinia looked with Matthew tonight. But then Tom's words echoed through her head '_In a weird way, she cares about you Syb, and she's bloody dedicated to her side_._' _so she simply pouted and shook her head.

Before Mary could make an unnecessary comeback, they were disturbed by a searching waiter, the eager look on his face a clear indication that he was on some sort of errand. "I'm very sorry to interrupt ladies, but Mr. Grantham has asked that you gather together the LL's again ;he would like to see everyone in his office."

Tearing her gaze from Mary's as they broke to cover both sides of the room, Sybil let her mind wander to two days ago, when she had say goodbye to her reborn boyfr- to Tom...

_She had acted as shocked as Tom genuinely was when she switched on the news Boxing Day morning. Her stomach had felt entirely empty, yet something deep inside seemed able to churn uncomfortably within her. The atmosphere they had woken to, one of peace and contentment, had been instantly replaced with that of coldness and anger._

_" William. William's dead?" Tom's deadpan statement as the newsreader confirmed the victims identity had made Sybil pause in her dressing for the day._

_" I don't know what to say T-"_

_Her meek plea was cut off by Tom's unexpected growl. " Sorry maybe? Sorry I've killed your mate Tom?"_

_Her defiant inner fire was lit with his words. " Don't be like that! I haven't done anything. I'm sorry you've lost a frie-!"_

_" Are you? Really?" He had ruffled his hair once more with his damp towel before tossing it across the room. " You couldn't give a fuck Syb, infact, you're probably elated!"_

_" I'm glad you think so highly of me! And to think I almost told you I lo-" _

_The amount of the times that morning she had thanked her lucky stars that Tom's mother had walked in at that moment and stopped her from revealling the feelings she herself was still unsure of was countless. With every brief moment of scorched eye contact she shared with him, or awkward pull away when they touched, the rush of relief that she had kept the revalation to herself drowned her._

_When they eventually said goodbye to Tom's family she had smiled sweetly and clutched a whining Isis to her chest, breathing in the smell of aftershave left by Tom's previous cuddle. He had been silent in the car and she had refused to be the first to speak, even when she had been dying to scold him for texting whilst driving. Eventually though, he had told her to check she had her bag ready and to lock Isis's carrier as they were at the dock. _

_He had opened her door for her when he parked, and she understood him enough now to accept this as his way of sorry. " I wish this could have ended differently but-"_

_" It's always there, I know." And she was sorry too._

_She watched as his hair flicked into his eyes and his fingers scraped it back. " Yesterday- last night- It was so perfect Syb."_

_For some reason she had felt chocked at his words, and had struggled with her consequently thick reply. " It was. Tom I can't thank you enough. I haven't had a day like that in a long time."_

_" You mean a normal one?" His gruff laugh had brought a smile to her face as she nodded. "But we aren't normal are we? Just when things seem good, our lives always-"_

_"-come back and hit us in the face?" It was her turn to give a false giggle._

_They had kissed goodbye then. She had expected a brief kiss, but Tom had his arms around her before she could blink and her back had been pushed against the Bugatti. So she had gone with it, trying to ignore how the desperate way in which he kissed her signalled it could be the last for a long time, if ever again. After all, their gangs were not going to be the same as when they had left them, and that meant returning home would change themselves too. Who was to say this brief relationship they had started would survive that?_

_Tom had broken the kiss, not looking at her as he handed her her bag and the pet carrier, and with a half nod, which she returned with a curve of lips, they silently bid one another good bye. She cried a little on the way home, her tears, each a treasure chest to her secrets, fell like crystals into the unyielding ocean._

"Sybil? Did you want to sit?" Grantham's voice pulled her from her tortured memories.

She peered about the crowded office she had somehow managed to reach and bowed her head to her waiting boss. "No thank you Grantham, I'd prefer to stand."

Withering a little beneath the gang leaders stern gaze; Grantham was quite the traditionalist and as such would have preferred her to sit whilst the men stood, Sybil curled a fist into her feathered skirt and wandered over to the huge window sporting a stunning deep blue night. She rhythmically tapped her fingertips on the icy glass as the superior members of Lords and Ladies settled into silence, some sat, others, like Sybil, edged off around the office knowing that they would still hear every word spoken.

"First of all, for those of you still holding a glass, I'd like you to raise them once again to Matthew. A true LL if ever there was one." Grantham's toast was met with a chant of Matthew's name, the clink of glasses and the slightest hum of swallows. "Now, you're probably wondering why I've asked you to gather here-"

"That, would be my doing."

Sybil spun around so fast she almost fell over her own shoes, and was pleased to find her moment of clumsiness had been missed by the entire room scrambling to their feet in respect. God, none of them had heard that voice in a while, and Sybil's well trained mind was already telling her there could be no good reason for it's return.

Violet Dowager was as well known a name as Lords and Ladies itself. She was it's matriarch, it's mother, it's sibling and spouse all in one. When the last gang boss, her husband, had fallen victim to an enemy arson attack, she had done everything within her power not to lose control of the LL's. And miraculously, even with the demands for a male superior to take over, she had kept it. Unlike your average gang wife, Cora for example, the beautiful spirit to be seen and not heard, taught to lie and give alibi, to offer their murderous husband unhindered devotion, Violet had taken her role as fiery woman and managed to win the battle that made Lords and Ladies the elite group it was today. And for that, the levels of respect she received came second only to Grantham, her protégé and eventual successor.

She was rarely seen nowadays though, her level of Lords and Ladies respect also came with the obvious ratio of increased Satan's Servants hate, so Grantham was rumoured to keep her safe out of London. Or, he usually did. "Please sit Mrs. Dowager."

"Thank you Robert, I see your manners remain as I left them." As Violet sat down, Sybil almost felt obliged to crouch to the floor as people returned to their seats. "Now, I won't be here long, but what I have to say is important, if not vital. It doesn't take a fool to realise the gradual increase in LL-Servant animosity. Gang business is strictly underground, an average murder can be covered with bribery and connections all well, but fighting between ourselves can _not_. You've all seen the news, everyone is watching, wary, and the police, no matter how many of them are corrupted, are reacting to the publics calls for security, a crack down on mob violence."

Edith's voice cut across the room like a blinding, painful, beam of light. "So what, we all go quiet until the interest wanes?"

Violet gave a look of utter superiority. "Don't be defeatest dear, it's very middle class. Of couse we aren't going to lay low, but we are going to keep up the standards of Lords and Ladies." A ripple of nervousness snuck about the room as Violet stood up in a swift movement of someone far younger than her years and began her slow stroll around Grantham's desk. "I'm simply saying we must all be on guard-"

"Which reminds me..." Sybil's eyes flittered towards Grantham. "Satan's will be looking for revenge, and as Matthew is unsure whether or not his identity as the killer is known by them, he's going to need a minder-"

"A minder?" Mary scoffed from her seated position by the bookcase. "I didn't realise we were living in the 1960's."

Grantham rolled his eyes and Sybil felt reluctant smile; she liked him, liked the way he treated his gang as family, most of the time... "Guard then, second, back-up, whatever you want to call it. It won't be 24/7, that _will_ be for the heavy men, just during the times he is on a jo- Please Matthew do not argue again, you know your fellows will be more than willing. So I do not expect Matthew to work on any jobs alone for a while. We'll need to make arrangements, he'll definitely need someone for New Years Eve, all that chaos-"

"I'll do it." It wasn't until she noticed every pair of blue, hazel, green, grey, brown eyes upon her that Sybil realised she had spoken, but the moment she did, she knew why; that bloody Irish bastard of a man."I'll take New Year."

"Yes, well, we'll have proper arrangements set up soon." Grantham continued to talk about plans for Matthews protection when Sybil caught Mary's eye. It was that same look she had seen her wear the day she had revealed the Rosamund photos, except the look was now was passing between her and Matthew. Oh God, she couldn't think..?

Once again her train of thought was interrupted by Violent, now poised closer to Sybil by the window as she leant on her cane. "Yes Robert, that's all very well. But back to my earlier warning. The country is suddenly overly aware of gang matters, and that is unsafe for us all. But it also means that it's time to end the fued between us and Satan's Servants-" While the rest of the room errupted into disgusted shouts and hisses, Sybil's heart turned to bubbles in her chest. End the fued? End it? So... Her and Tom, they could be-

"Don't be ridiculous!" Came Mary's wild cry.

"I'm not being ridiculous, I would never dream of surrendering to the Servants, how foolish of you all to think such a thing! What we need is power and control, and will that be achieved by mixing gangs? No, so put that in your pipe and smoke it!" Sybil's bubbles began to burst, tiny shimmers of a fleeting dream popping in her chest.

"What Violet means to say, is that we are at _war_ with Satan's Servants." Sybil knew she was imagining it, but she felt as though Grantham's eyes lingered on her a second too long with his final words.

So this was it, was it? It was no longer territorial scuffles or spontaneous acts of violence, no, now it was a battle? Now it was war?

All at once Sybil wanted nothing more than to go back all those months ago, when the moon had shone down over Tom, over his shadowed form, his darkened questioning eyes, and to stop herself from taking _that_ kiss.

o o o

Tom vaguely wondered if Thomas would even have a hand left after Carson's tearing bullet as he swirled around his second glass of brandy that day, looking over the lush green, azure blue, dusty orange view that was his bosses Cuban vista from the white washed balcony. He understood Carson's rage, after all, Thomas had been entrusted to care for Satan's Servants, and having to find out the leader you had assigned had allowed a fellow to die, well... _Bang_, he guessed.

"Tom?" Carson appeared at his side, still in his sharp suit, though his tie was black now rather than cream, crimson blood and cream were apparently a very unfortunate mix.

Feeling too scruffy and inappropriately dressed as Carson's eyes swept over his rolled up sleeves and unbuttoned waistcoat, Tom ran a thumb roughly across his sweat dashed nose to emphasise the heat and need for such loosened layers. "What do you need from me Carson?"

For a moment his boss was silent, so Tom turned back to stunning view, glancing downwards at the aqua blue tiled swimming beneath them and the scattered henchman patrolling the patio perimeter. "Keeping up standards is the only way we can show the LL's we will not be beaten in the end."

The sun seemed to shine a little brighter all of a sudden, and Tom's heart began to bang in his chest as he squinted with his reply; where was his boss going with this? "Of course Carson."

"I'm glad you understand, which is why I need you to do a job for me."

The murmuring heart which had began throwing itself at the floor in a desperate tantrum suddenly began to calm; so Carson had no idea about him and Sybil? Thank fuck. "Anything."

"The moment I found out about William's death, I had Anna and John sweep the scene, and from what they have told me, the killer was male, blonde-"

"Matthew."

"Indeed. And since we know the name of the murderer, we know the name of the person we need to kill." Carson caught Tom in a full authoritative stare that indicated his next words were not going to be taken lightly, nor were they to be argued with. "The person _you_ need to kill."

Wow. Well that was- _shit_. Really? This was it? His first murder job, his- Jesus. He thought back to the day he had been officially inducted into the gang, of how he had felt to hold his first gun, that power, that excitable need to use it, and now he was being asked to? Sure, he had been in more fights than he could remember since joining, had attacked, threatened and beaten every person he had been asked to, but to kill someone... Once he might have thought it was the greatest of glories, but now, after losing William, after the murders he had taken part in, after seeing his beautiful Sybil have her soul torn to pieces... Sybil...

_He couldn't believe that she had just refused to sleep with him because of his parents. But when he had thought of telling her that his mother and father had seen and heard plenty of his past flames sneaking up the stairs with him, he had looked into her eyes as she shuffled into position on his chest and had decided against such a confession._

_" I am sorry Tom, it's just-"_

_" Shh, it's alright. I can rely on my memories." He had laughed at her pretty scowl as she pretended to struggle from his hold._

_" That's just the thing Tom, our track record isn't exactly very romantic. And I don't want to add to that." She had smelt so wonderful._

_" What? Brothels and train carriages aren't romantic? I can't believe how blind I've been!" _

_And her laugh was wonderful too. " Funnily enough, they aren't!"_

_Her giggling was soon swallowed by the duvet as he had pretended to looked shocked and hurt. " And here's me thinking I'm such a player."_

_That was when she had begun stroking his face, her little fingertips raising even tinier bumps to his skin. " I'm sorry Romeo. But honestly, is it okay?"_

_Okay? She had been laid in his bed for gods sake, her body on his, her eyes locked on his, their hearts beating along side one another. Of course he wanted to make love to her, but he didn't need to, that time together had been more than okay, that moment had been perfect. " Yes Syb, jeez, I'm just over the moon to have you here to be honest."_

_He gathered the dark had failed to hide his blush as hers had suddenly become very obvious. " I'm glad you asked me here Tom. It's the best Christmas I've had in years. Your family are really nice, and you had nothing to worry about, they didn't really ask anything too personal did they?" He had shaken his head, revelling in the knowledge that she had enjoyed the day. " So, do you want to stay longer?"_

_" You want to stay longer?" His excitement would have had him sat up if not for Sybil's weight upon him._

_" Sorry Tom, I-I can't. I didn't mean that. I would love to though, but it's too difficult, especially with-" She had cut short there, he wondered why. " I just meant you. Your dad told me about the New Years party your family are throwing, don't you want to stay?"_

_He could still recall now how his face had fallen at that moment. " No, no. It's best I go now. It's been okay, I don't want to spoil things. And besides, maybe- maybe we could do something for new year?"_

_" Us?" Her eyes had flashed like a star in the moonlight._

_" That's the first time you ever spoken about us." He had wanted her so badly at that moment, the tension stifling with each twitch of her perfect lips._

_" Hmm. I guess it is." His eyelids had met as Sybil pushed her nose to his._

_" We could go out- something secret obviously- but maybe a meal somewhere outside of main London? Or-"_

_" No, the meal, I'd like that. Do you like Italian?" _

_" Who doesn't?" His heart had started swelling again. " So, that's it then? We'll spend new year together?"_

_They had sealed the deal with a lingering press of lips, and it wasn't long before Tom had felt his eyes begin to droop, before he told Sybil about his mothers observation of the happiness she brought to him, before light tingling kisses became something more..._

_"_New year. I'll assassinate him at new year." Tom's sudden eagerness for the job at hand had Carson smirking. Tom was glad of this, his sudden hesitation over the crime he must commit was suddenly gone. If it hadn't been for that _fucking_ Matthew, that fucking Lords and Ladies prick, him and Sybil would be... together. But what were they now? Because of him? What _were_ they? Back to the stage of uncertainty, not knowing where they stood or if they wanted to stand anywhere? They could have be together now, right at this moment, Sybil telling him which restaurant he should reserve while he kissed every inch of her body in distraction. But they weren't, because of _him_. "It'll be perfect Carson. The pissing police will have too much on their hands with new year madness, that'll get them out the way. And as for the LL's, well, I'd say a swarming London will ruin a lot of their surveillance. I'll make my own getaway too, you didn't buy me one of the fastest cars in the world for nothing."

"I like your thinking Tom, very impressive. I knew I should have placed you in charge." Carson nodded as he accepted a huge cigar from a quaking maid; there was a speck of blood on her collar. "I'll get a team to-"

"No, no thank you." Tom looked out at the rustic view and pressed a palm to his neck. "I'll do this alone. I'll track him, I'll find him, and I'll kill him."

_Pur-la-ease Review ^^_

_Once again, another chapter where Tom and Sybil failed to meet, but I hope that you still enjoyed it just the same! You did, right? This one was tricky for me to get right, maybe because of all the Downton faces suddenly appearing, but once I had, I was relieved to get to edit mode and give it all those last little tweaks! Not so much a spoiler, but more of a tease, I, am very much looking forward to writing the next instalment..._

_Next Monday bubs!_


	17. Sweet Disposition

_Chapter Song - Sweet Disposition by The Temper Trap_

_' A moment, a love, a dream, a laugh, a kiss, a cry, our rights, our wrongs. '_

_. . . . . . . . . . ._

It was beautiful, she supposed, London, on New Years Eve. Everywhere she looked, there were colours, rainbows in fact. Purple streamers hanging from windows, men clad in tomato red capes, teenagers glittering gold with Christmas's bedraggled tinsel, dogs with blue ribboned fur, trainers wound in neon laces, tutus swishing in bright pink, trees shimmering with aqua blue lights; London's night long rainbow. The atmosphere was electric, people chanting inappropriate and ill-fitting football songs, laughing unnecessary apologies, dancing randomly at the blast of a car radio, sharing hugs with stumbling animal costumes, shouting out premature greetings to the closing in new year.

Yes, it was all very beautiful. But then again, rolling feilds and lush landscapes were beautiful too, and she could bet her life no World War soldier had stopped to admire the daisies whilst playing kill or be killed. London at new year was beautiful, maybe, but it was a battlefield, _her _battlefield, for her war. And that kinda took the edge off.

"Something doesn't feel right." Sybil murmured against her clenched fist, her lips grazing her knuckles as she used her free hand to wipe at the icy vapour coated window.

Matthew bowed his head and frowned across at her from the drivers seat. "This is the exact reason I told Grantham not to bother giving me a second; all this worry! Honestly Sybil if you want t-"

"No Matthew, no." Sybil slid her leg from her huddled position, briefly thinking of how Tom would have gone berserk had she had her feet on the leather of his car. _Hmm_, she should be with him right now. "I have to be here. You really think I'm going to get a happy new year if a Grantham finds out I left you? Na uh, that might be how Satan's work, but not us."

"Well then, thank you." Her blonde accomplice began drumming his thumbs on his Mercedes-Benz steerling wheel.

Tucking her legs back against her chest, Sybil allowed her gaze to drift to Matthew. This was her second day as his guard and she could feel a familiar swelling in her stomach. It kept happening in moments, twanging her insides; she wanted to ask him how he was, desperate to know how he _felt_ now that he was a killer. Did he feel empty? Cold? Guilty? She was longing to know, but too scared to ask. Aside from Matthew, she only knew about murders committed by Mary and Carlisle, and as Mary's was committed even before she had joined Lords and Ladies and Carlisle was Grantham's personal executioner, she doubted they would be great confidants. Oh, she wasn't naive, she was sure the others had killed too, but how did one go about deeply questioning a topic that was so blasé in the gang world?

"I've still got a bad feeling Matthew." Women had natural intuition, and gangsters had hunters instincts; the combination within Sybil refused to let up.

"Sybil, I've had a bad feeling I've been being watched for over two years, honestly, we should be fine." Sybil puffed a little air through her nose at Matthew's words; alright, they may have been inducted around the same time, Matthew for his law knowledge, Sybil for her willingness to bend the rules, but she still felt she had the upper hand here.

"I'm just say-"

"Hello?" The radio greeting crackled into the car just as a rowdy bunch of pub goers staggered by the misty window.

"Evening Evelyn, nice to have you back." Matthew pushed his lips to the fuzzing contraption.

"Nice to be back really. Grantham reckons I've been on the run long enough for the police to have dropped the search, so I'm good to go. Right-" Sybil patted the blade in her pocket. "-it's pretty straight forward from what I can see. From the angle of this security camera I'd say your best bet is to just leg it straight through the crowd, the target is with a minor but I think this woman I can see- Yeh, he just kissed her- He's with his wife and kid. So if you grab him down an alley, give him what for, the wife will take the kid, then you're good to go. Honestly can't believe the fucker thought he could get out of paying his protection money."

Sybil grinned, her adrenalin pumping a little as she buttoned her jacket and laughed. "Right? He'll have a not-so-nice surprise when he finds his department store smashed to oblivion tomorrow morning as well!"

"But for now, let's just remind the bastard who's boss. We good to go Evelyn?" Both Sybil and Matthew's hands were curled around the Mercedes door handles.

"Yup, police in sight, but no where near the target." So both clicked them open and swiftly banged them shut.

The moment Sybil ran down the steps of Trafalgar square and into the sea of the crowd, she knew her instincts had not failed her; something was _not_ right.

Her worst nightmare was about to come true, and it was all going to happen so fast.

Whatever her and Matthew's plans for the evening had been, no matter where they ran to, or who they chased, they would _not_ split up. So when Sybil realised she was in the middle of the bustling, jeering crowd alone, she knew something was wrong, _very_ wrong. And her fears were confirmed the second she returned to the edge of the crowd, where people were toppling over the grey steps of the square, that she came face-to-face with Matthew... frozen with his hands crossed and bound by wire infront of him, a gun to his chest.

The proximity of her ally and the balaclava clad attacker was so close that not one new year reveller had noticed the utter danger they were in, had not a clue of how their night was to end. But Sybil was no stranger to violence or threats, in fact, she was already running full pelt at the attacker with her hand reaching into her pocket when she heard the voice, _his_ voice.

So fast, everything just happened so... so fast.

"Evening Mr. La di da." Sybil's insides turned to a sickening swirl of dust at the sound of the Irish lilt. "Ahh cumon, what's that look for ya fucker? What's your problem you murderous shit?"

"My problem is you." Matthew and Tom, Matthew and _her_ Tom. No, no no no. _No_.

The surging crowd acted as a wave, drawing her further into it's depths, away from the two fury emanating figures. No, this couldn't be happening. _No_. "Oh aye?"

She wanted to scream, to cry for help. Help? _Help_? Ha! Who could help her now? She needed a mircale. Someone was going to die tonight. She could lose Matthew, her gangfellow, her friend. No! She couldn't let that happen, she couldn't let him die. She had to get to him, she had to- to- She could lose Tom. Oh no, no. No, please. She _couldn't_ lose him, no she- But Matthew- Her Tom-

"Sybil!" Matthew's surprise as Sybil burst through the throng of party goers was nothing compared to the look in Tom's; his beautiful ice chip eyes boring into her own, fiery wrath turning to scorching intensity.

The shock of actually seeing the proof of his identity, even if through two shadowed slits, had Sybil reeling. "T-"

_So_ many people. Everywhere. Sybil couldn't focus. There were just people. And Matthew and Tom. Oh God. Matthew could not move under Tom's threat, and Sybil could barely register the killing machine pressed to his ribs. By Tom, Tom's gun, her Tom. "Call it a day m'lady?"

It was dark. It _felt_ dark. Sybil tried to clear her head to think, but her mind was swathed in shadows. So instead she attempted to keep thread of the conversation, and realised with a surge of bile in her throat that Tom was trying to warn her without revealing all to Matthew, to demand that she leave whilst pretending to be the enemy. "I coul- I couldn't miss this. A chance to s-stop you."

"Couldn't you? I could." Sybil barely registered Matthew's cool remark, her mind unable to process more than one thing at a time.

And right now, that _one_ thing, was Tom. Because even in this God awful predicament of being rocked to and fro over the line of deception, Sybil felt that self-denied feeling swelling in her pounding heart; she couldn't let him do this. And it was terrible, she _knew_ it was, but right now, staring into Tom's warning blue irises, she didn't care about Matthew. She wanted the gun gone, yes, but she didn't want it gone out of consideration to her fellow LL, no. She wanted to stop Tom making the biggest mistake of his life, the biggest mistake of _her_ life. He would not be a killer.

Time was frozen. There was just her and him. Dark pupil pools locked to one another. And in that moment, Sybil realised she needed to calm her tearing heart, still her searing pulse, ease her ragged breathing, so that she could stop this. "Tom, don't do this."

Trying to ignore Matthew's confused expression was more than difficult, if Tom were to walk away now, how would she explain it? She couldn't, wouldn't be able to. "I have to do this. Now fuck off."

"Please Tom, listen, you musn't-"

"I told you to fuck off, I'm finishing this!" She thought her knees would give way when he broke their eye contact.

Matthew began to struggle with the realisation of immanent danger and Sybil's scream surprised even herself. "No! Tom no!"

The crowd was getting heavier. She could barely breathe. Matthew was flailing. Tom was holding him tight, tiliting his gun. Then she was lunging forward, her target the glinting weapon of death. There were shouts, the crowd had noticed the struggle, but most walked by. Sybil was lost, rolling around on the floor, grasping out blindly.

_Must find gun, must find gun, must find gun._

She was somehow on her feet, as was Matthew who pushed around her to pull a punch at Tom. Her screams were uncontrollable now. No, no, don't hurt him. Tom was fighting back, his tense fists pummelling Matthew. No, no, please. He'll be hurt, he'll be killed!

Sybil tried one more time to throw herself into the flurry of warmongering limbs, but found herself thrown from the struggle and onto the pavement. She felt the smack to her head the moment she heard it. Her eyes were blurry, there was blood slivering down her face. She couldn't move, couldn't get to him. She _had_ to get to him though, she had to- No! The gun was raised, fingers curled around the trigger.

As the two shots rang out, silencing and scattering the crowd all at once, Sybil gave in to the consuming anguish in her heart and let her eyes fall shut, the only sound a whisper of a voice. "Oh, no. Oh, please God, no."

o o o

"Sybil, Sybil. You're okay. I'm right here, right here." Sybil opened her eyes slowly, knowing that she had managed to do so at least three or four times in the past hour or so. And each time she had been met with the same sight; a grey bedroom, covered in historical posters: Hitler raising his salute, J. F Kennedy waving in his last parade, Emily Davison throwing herself beneath the kings horse, and Tom, her Tom, sat as close as possible, stroking her hair. The sight sent her back to sleep every time.

The fifth time she opened her eyes however, something was different. The posters were intact, the room still grey, but the armchair holding her protector was furtherback, turned away, and she heard the Irish accent come jovial rather than comforting. "How did you know? Ha! Course I got him. Wha-? Look I couldn't give a fuck if he ain't dead, with two smashed knees the bastard won't be chasing any of us down any time soon. It's all covered though right? Ahh good. Oh good ol' PC Friar, that blokes gonna want a pay rise. Yeah, got out quick as-"

Sybil felt a spasm of something sharp across her head, and with her attempt to shake the feeling away, she had caught Tom's attention and he rose from his seat, murmuring to the person on the end of the phone to hold on as he left the room.

No. She didn't want him gone. Alright, she should be worried about more than Tom right now, what with being in a strange bed and not knowing the cause of the thumping drumming in her head, but- but he was _alive_. Tom, who she had thought would die in the brawl between him and Matt- No, don't think of him. Tom, Tom, Tom. He's alive.

But no matter how many times she told herself this, his lack of presence would not allow her to believe it wholeheartedly. So, swinging her legs over the bed, an action which caused a shudder of pain all over her body, she stumbled to her feet and crept out the door. She could hear his voice, _ahh_ his voice, and it was close, just a few more steps. Holding her arms out wide to touch either side of the hallway Sybil padded silently along the grey carpet until she came out into a grand living area, and there by the fireplace, pouring a whisky with one hand, undoing his shirt with the other, supporting his phone with his shoulder, was Tom, the man she-

"Tom, I love you."

o o o

His eyes tight shut, Tom unhooked his final shirt button and held the phone to his ear. "John I'll have to call you back."

Before he turned around to face the sight he had dreamed of for so long; Sybil's deep blue eyes looking nowhere but his, her full lips forming those three little words, her whole self his and his alone, Tom downed his whiskey and tried to calm his drumming heart.

He had done it. He had shot Matthew, had avenged the death of his Satan's Servants ally and put the fucking Lords and Ladies prick in his place; now he felt on top of the world. And the cherry on top was the woman he loved, the woman he had loved for _so_ long, had finally just told him she loved him too. She _loved_ him. Or was she delirious from the accident? _No_, he would not let a flicker of doubt shroud his current elation, so he turned around. "Do you?"

Even in one of his t-shirts, a small bandage taped to her head, she was beautiful. And the sound of her following words was even more so. "I-I do, I really do love you. I- tonight I-"

He would not have her cry. Swiftly closing the space between them, Tom wrapped his hands around Sybil's tiny waist and pressed his face to her neck. "Say it again. Sybil, say it."

He kissed her throat as her trembling fingers found his hair. "I love you Tom."

That doubt, _urgh, _he had to be rid of it. Pulling back from the hair swathed over her shoulder, Tom gave her the glare usually reserved for getting answers out of SS enemies. "Why? Why now?"

She shuffled a little, but he refused to let her go. "I- tonight- what happened?"

There was little point in lying. "I was told to kill Matthew, I caught up with him, we all fought, you were knocked out, I shot him, got you back to my car, swapped it quick at the safe house and brought you to mine. Now why do you love me?"

"I thought so, I remember the gu-" He didn't mean to shake her quite so forcefully, but he was quickly becoming desperate, the need for the return of his previous glory becoming hungry. "Sorry. I-I love you, I know I do because tonight, when you and Matthew were fighting, I- I didn't care about him Tom. He's my Lords and Ladies ally and I coul- couldn't give a _fuck_. I just wanted you safe, I couldn't lose you _again_, and I didn't want you to kill him, not for his sake, but so you wouldn't become the killer I am."

Glory, elation, joy, happiness. The overflow created an almost drunk feeling within him. "You may have gotten both wishes darling, I'm safe, and word on the street is Matthew may pull through." He decided not to mention the fact the fucker would probably never walk again. "But you love me? You _really_ love me?"

His mind was impatient again; say it, _say it_. "I do, I love you."

"Thank fuck." Careful not to touch the padded tissue on her head- who knew a doctor could be dragged from his new year party for as little as three grand- Tom wrapped a fist in her bed swept hair and kissed her with all the utter relief his body possessed. He gave himself a little more leeway than he probably should have with Sybil in such a shaky state; tearing off her t-shirt, lifting her into his arms, lowering her onto the sofa beneath him, but she loved him, _loved_ him, and a realisation such as that could do things to a man.

He knew now was the time for words not action, but it was Sybil that had to break their kiss as his hand reached for his belt. "What now Tom?"

"What now?" His heart was racing, sprinting, riding a thoroughbred off into the sunset. Sybil loved him. "What do you mean? You can stay here, I'm sure your gang will think you're just laying lo-"

"No Tom. I mean, now, as in, for _us_. Where do we go from here?" He revelled in the fact that her eyes were roaming his face so quickly, as though to take all of him in, but her words had struck a chord in him and he pushed away from her warm embrace.

Raising from the sofa and over to the fireplace to refill his whisky glass, Tom downed a second shot and strolled lithely over to his window where he pulled back the curtain slightly. No fireworks, the new year was not yet upon them. No sirens either, he was in the clear. "Do you really want to know?"

"Of course. I just told you I loved you and that means we have to do something!" Her voice seemed steadier as she swept his t-shirt back on roughly over her cut head; she was definitely the fighter he knew her to be. "Do we run?"

He smirked and turned to face her, a final gush of adrenalin flooding his veins. "I thought so, once. But sometimes a future needs terrible sacrifices. And I know the one I'm willing to make."

As he expected, her brow creased and an eyebrow raised. God he loved her, and she loved him. "A sacrifice? What sort of sacrifice?"

He took a deep breath, if there was one thing he knew, it was that he had to make this clear, or Sybil would doubt his sincerity. "The biggest sacrifice; my safety, your safety, for a chance. But I think we can do it."

The sight of Sybil teetering around the objects in his house toward him made his heart ache, in a _good_ way. "What are you talking about Tom? Is it just my head or am I missing something?"

Keep calm Tom, make this neat. "Come here." He curled his fingers around hers, pulling her as close as possible. "I thought we could run too, well that's what I planned we would do when I imagined you telling me you wanted to be with me- Fuck Syb, do you really love me?"

Okay, this wasn't keeping things neat, but he _had_ to hear it again. "Yes, for Gods sake To-"

He kissed her with a smile. "I'm sorry, I've waited so long for those words, I can't believe I'm hearing them. Now, where was I? Uhh yes, I thought we could run too. But while I was thinking of you, hoping you would come to me, I started to think of the reasons you _wouldn't_. I thought of how you love the power you get being in a gang, of how you like that feeling of being in a team, of how scared you are of being killed for leaving it all behind. And..."

"And?" She was impatient, he was glad.

"And I realised, being in the gang world Syb, that's who we are, isn't it? I'm like you, I love and fear those things too. I know I'm in love with you enough to leave Satan's Servants but- but say I loved you enough that I wasn't willing to take you from the only world you knew?"

"What? So you leave the SS but I stay an LL? Tom are you _mad_? It's still treachery! Good God, how can you imagi-"

"No." He voice was authoritative enough to stop even Sybil in her tracks. "I want us out of this feud alright, _both_ of us. I'll leave the SS, and you leave the LL's, but say we didn't leave the gang world? Say we started something new?"

"You can't be serio- you _are_, aren't you?" He pulled away from their close hold; he knew she would want to pace this one out.

"Deadly. I think we can do it Syb." Placing his hands in his pockets, he fixed her with a pleading stare. "It all comes down to whether or not you love me, that's all, that's it, the rest is detail."

Yup, she was pacing. "I do bu- Start a new gang? I hadn't ever thought- Bloody hell I gathered that you were ambitious- We'd need weeks, _months_-"

"I'd wait forever."

Her frantic pacing and wringing of hands told him she had failed to hear his words. "-not to mention the fact that so many people could reveal our plans if they were SS or LL loyal. God, you want to take on _both_ Lords and Ladies and Satan's Servants? You're insane!"

He was oddly glad she had jumped to such a conclusion; it made his next admittance seem tame, rational. "I don't want London Syb. Fuck the SS, fuck the LL's, I want Ireland, I want it all, and I'm gonna take it."

"Ireland?" Like he'd hoped, Sybil stopped dead in her tenth length of his coffee table to consider his words. "You want _Ireland_?"

Rolling up the sleeves of his unbuttoned shirt, Tom slowly crept toward the heavily breathing Sybil. "I do. It could be ours Syb, all _ours_."

"All ours?" She shook her head as though to regain the clarity she had momentarily lost to a daydream and he had to smirk. "Have you even thought of this properly? We would have to gather members, get contacts, make base-"

Grasping her face in his palms and stopping her with a long, lingering kiss, Tom pulled back far enough to talk, but close enough to keep the tips of their noses brushing. "When I was in Ireland, in my dark days, I knew every dealer, knew every corner to get a fix. But it wasn't easy, you know why? Cos there was no leader, no boss. I'm sure there were attempts, but so many people just wanted quick cash, no strings. But I could change that Syb. Since being in Satan's I've made contacts, and not only those Carson knows about, and I bet you know some from Lords and Ladies. They don't mean much now, but we could bring them around, and with our joint gang knowledge Syb, darling, we could do it. No more war, no more enemies, just us. We could take the clubs, the casinos, the bars, take _control_. And we could have everything we wanted, _and_ eachother. Sometimes a hard sacrifice must be made for a future that's worth having. That's all I'm saying. That's up to you."

For few minutes, Tom let his body to the talking for him, holding Sybil close, breathing her air, kissing her with feathery brushes to show her he loved her, wanted this with her. "How long have you been planning this?"

"In all honestly? I haven't." He hurried with his next words, determined not to lose her faith. "But it's something I've always thought about, you know, like a boyish dream. Being the boss, calling the shots, except now it doesn't have to be, now it's possible. You once told me to play the game you had to know all the rules, and we do Syb, we do!"

"Tom, we need more than a boyish _dream_! I don't kno-"

His laugh was slightly desperate, exasperated. He knew he was offering her an unsteady deal, but it didn't have to stay that way. He knew they could do this, _together_. And if he had ever been uncertain of his ability to take charge and go to the lengths required of a gang boss, tonight had taught him he was _more_ than capable. "Don't Sybil. We can, we _can_. Look, if we make a go of this, if we succeed, you wouldn't have to worry about going on murder missions anymore. I would never expect that of you! We would have people protecting us, people working for us. Fuck Sybil, you could even start your nursing on the side again!"

He felt slightly devious with that last offer, but it brought a light to her eyes. "My nursing? I guess I could, I mean- No! Tom, think about this-" She pulled from his grasp to resume her pacing, leaving him to rock back and fourth on his heels. "-we'd have them after us, both our gangs, they'd want revenge!"

Rolling a fist against his palm, Tom considered her words. "No we wouldn't. Think Syb, I know every Satan's secret, and you know every detail about Lords and Ladies, if they came after us, we'd threaten them with all our knowledge. And I'm serious when I say I don't want London, I have _no_ plans to get involved in their war once we branch off, I won't touch them, I won't antagonise them, I just want Ireland. I'll make something of myself I promise."

He wasn't sure why, hadn't a clue how he knew it, but with her breathless sigh, he understood he had her won. "I know you will."

Tentatively stepping over to her, as though worried a sudden movement would break her unspoken assent, Tom took her little hands in his. "Look, I know it's a major sacrifice, but I want this and I want you. I swear, _God_, I promise to devote every waking minute to your happiness."

Slowly, _so_ slowly, she nodded her head and as quick as light his pulse sped up. "Yes alright. Jeez, this _must_ mean I'm madly in love with you."

"Ha! Doesn't it!" Kissing her over and over, laughing between each desperate touch of lips, smiling like a fool as Sybil wrapped her arms around his neck in glee, Tom almost let his next words flow, but checked himself; they had already had enough excitement for one night. However, that didn't stop him thinking them with relish. _'You know, if we do this, we can't have the respectable gang of Branson with a Crawley as it's Queen.' _No he mustn't ask _that_ question, the _big_ question, not yet anyway.

"What are you thinking abou-?" Sybil's husky inquiry was drowned by a flurry of bangs and crackles.

"Just thinking about what a year we're in for." He smiled down into the deep blue, _love_ tainted, midnight irises of the woman who had the power to break his heart with the snap of her fingers. "Happy new year."

"It better be, cos we're dead if it isn't."

And so the year began.

_Please Review (I am dying for your thoughts this week!) ^^_

_Okay, cumon, who saw something like this happening? I've only had the plan in mind for a few weeks, but I knew it was right for the story. And for once, I'm actually glad I've been able to reveal this chapter to you (Usually I'm a worrier, but this week, I wanted to get the bloody thing out to you all!)_

_Moooonnndddaaayyyy..._

_Oh author Btvs got a preview of the story so that you guys could have my update AND her video...  
>www. youtube watch?v=as1xvue5_wQ&amp;feature=<br>_


	18. It's a Man's World

_Chapter song - It's a Man's, Man's, Man's World by James Brown_

_'This is a man's world, but it wouldn't be nothing, nothing without a woman or a girl'_

. . . . . . . . . .

"No- don't- don't take anything off, I want it on- all on." Grasping Tom's tie with one hand, twining the other around the back of his collared neck, Sybil pulled him down to his bed with a frantic kiss.

It was an icy winters day, but Sybil was hot, _really_ hot. And so was the man now hovering above her, his lips making contact with hers between each of his words. "I'm gonna- have- to ask- for the- complete- opposite."

Nodding her assent, still clinging to Tom's collar, Sybil shimmied and twisted to allow him to strip her entirely of her clothing. There was a brief moment however when Tom stopped to gaze over her lingerie, but her reaction to this pause was to arch her back and click off her bra herself. And just as she hoped, the action changed the soft, admiring gaze in Tom's eyes into something much more aggressive, needy, and she found herself holding his head to her chest as his following flurry of soft kisses, teeth grazes and tongue drags made her breathing shallow and fast.

Before long however, his eager mouth had moved from her breasts to her neck, offering her an easier position to tug at his trousers. "P-pull these down but- _Tom_- but don't take them off."

"As you wish m'lady." The hot breath from his reply against her collar bone fluttered her eyes shut, and she bit her lip as she felt, rather than saw, as he eased his black trousers down to his knees.

When she did open her eyes however a half groan caught in the back of her throat as Tom began to shrug off his jacket above her. "No Tom- I want-"

Her lips were completely smothered by his, her tongue touching and tasting his own. "Na aa, can't you feel how hot I am?"

Oh, she _could_. "O-okay. But shirt and- _To_- tie on."

"Shh." He whispered, sweeping the scant lace of her French knickers down her thighs.

Surrendering to his kisses along her jawline, Sybil slowly twined her legs around Tom's waist, a little overwhelmed by the feel of his clothing against her entirely naked form and pulled his lips back to her own. Then, grasping two handfuls the crisp white shirt covering his back, she began to grind and gyrate against him, sighing heavily as he pushed back, his clothed chest against her bare one, his erection hard against her thigh, his lips more eager, hungry.

One hand now clasping the back of his neck, Sybil trailed her other fingers down to the waistband of Tom's Calvin Klein boxers. "Knees- just down to your knees."

"Sick woman." But he obliged all the same.

Finally satisfied with the state of Tom's clothing, Sybil flung her forearm over her closed eyes as she focused on sensation of his hand entwined in her hair, his palm at her breast, his rough thumb caressing. Then, when she felt him ease inside of her, she breathed her next words against his lips. "I love you."

Her teeth tugging at his bottom lip muffled his reply slightly, but she got the meaning all the same. "I l- you too- so m- uch."

"I know, I know." What had started as frantic, passionate lust suddenly became soft, gentle love, and as Tom moved in and out of Sybil slowly, quietly, their hurried kisses turned to long, lingering gazes, their crazed groping now delicate caresses.

Rolling her tongue over her bottom lip, Sybil began to lift her hips, following her lovers rhythm, and reached for the fingers she felt grasping her waist. Then, slipping her hand over his, she ran a palm across his forehead, pushing a few dark hairs back into place. His resultant soft grin had her hypnotised.

Their light groans and whispered words emphasized the utter pleasure she was giving him, the utter pleasure he was giving her, and all she could wonder was how it was even possible to feel so good, to feel so wanted. Because that's what Tom did, he made her feel necessary, _needed_.

She was hot, so hot, her skin flaring up with each deliberate, body weakening thrust into her, and she could see Tom's sweat gathering on his shirt, the crisp materal clinging to his hard chest. Running both hands down his firm abdomen, whimpering rather loudly as a particularly pleasurable jolt shot through her limbs, Sybil wound her arms around Tom's back, her fingers dancing across the damp fabric she found there. But before she could begin her intended gentle strokes across his swaying muscles, he began to move just a fraction faster, and instead her nails found solace in his damp skin.

The sound of his rough moan as her nails sank deeper into his back had Sybil completely lost to her instincts, abruptly determined to have him gasping and writhing because of her, because of what she could do. So matching his sudden hitch of pace, Sybil urged her hips up against him with more pressure, creating consuming intensity, bringing lust back into love. And just like that, their lovemaking was passionate once again.

Her's and Tom's hand were suddenly everywhere. Her's clinging to his back, gripping his shoulders, tugging his hair, stroking his shaven jaw. His trailing her ribs, cupping her breasts, twisting in her long locks, grasping the back of her neck. Sybil wouldn't have been able to control her actions, even if she wanted to. She was just too lost to his full weight taking her, his lips and tongue against her own, his movements literally taking her breath her away.

And then, as though hinted at or expected, Sybil reached for Tom's palms as he searched for hers. Wrapping their fingers around one another's against the pillow draped with Sybil's cocoa hair, both let their eyes meet, their blue, lusty, needy, desperate, _loving_ eyes.

The sensational relief was bliss. "Oh Tom, _fuck_."

Her sought after shudders had her arching her back right off the mattress, her entire body tightening it's grip on Tom, and his next words came strained and breathless. "_Jesus_ Syb."

For a few moments after, all was quiet except for the huff of panting and the ruffle of sheets. Still breathing heavily, swallowing harder than usual, Sybil pulled Tom against her even tighter, then used both shaking palms to push the hair off of his forehead. In return, he simply shuffled, still on top of her, closed his eyes and gave way to the tingling prickles of her hair playing.

Eventually, Sybil's voice returned to her, though rather huskier than usual. "You didn't tell me you were going to be wearing a suit."

Her stomach clenched when he looked down and gave her a little smirk. "I didn't realise it mattered. Until you tore through my front door and jumped me that was."

Despite what had just occurred between them, Sybil felt a blush spreading over her cheeks. "I guess I just expected to find you packing a few last things, a little bit rushed, wearing some comfortable flight clothes. But then, well, _hello_ Emporio Armani..."

"Well, my suit loved your hello." His kiss was so light Sybil barely felt it. "And it's important for me to dress smart Syb. You know what this events going to be like, full of the big names, and the last thing I want to do is end up on the same plane as a Europe gang boss whilst wearing a woolly jumper and a pair of scruffy socks."

"It's important for _us_ Tom." Her kiss to him was firmer, had purpose, and he responded in kind.

But just as she looped her fingers around his tie, he drew back, winked, and pushed himself off the bed. Then, loosening the tie and slipping it over his neck, he began unbuttoning his creased, damp shirt. "It's alright for me to take this off now right?" She nodded with a shy smile as she crawled into a lounged position across his bed. "Good, cos after _that_, well, no time for a shower, just a new shirt. Then it's off to America..."

Watching Tom step about the room, hitching up his trousers, whipping off his shirt, slipping on a crisp, fresh one, Sybil stirred a little on the warm, fluffy duvet, her body feeling heavy and loose. He was leaving her, leaving London, for four days. Once, their track history would have dictated that a gap of a fortnight was still too soon for them to meet, but now, three weeks into the new year, of their promise of love to eachother, four days was going to be too long apart. She would... miss him. But did you tell someone that? Especially if you were her; the determined, strong, Lady Sybil Crawley?

Hmm, being in love was tricky. She smiled at the oddest times, sulked when she was waiting to see him, felt butterflies dancing in her gut at the thought of him, experienced sickness when she worried about him and generally didn't think of much else but him at all. She had found it was intoxicating to know that feelings that strong could be shared between two people, but it also frightened her. In this life you weren't supposed to get that close to someone, not like this, not when it could be lost so easily. So then why was it so easy to get lost _in_?

"Your dog's scratching at the door." Hmm, his voice was so sexy. "Sybil? Isis?"

"Oh right, let her in." She shook her head as the fluffy puppy came tripping into the room, wagging her puffy little tail like a windscreen wiper. "Hey pup."

"Make sure she sleeps with you every night, yeah?"

Pressing her lips tight together to suppress her girlish grin, Sybil fluttered her eyelashes as she looked up at Tom. "I promise, okay? I'm a big girl Tom, very much an independent woman, and I can take care of myself."

"Oh I don't doubt that, but I'm trying to work on my protective boyfriend side, so help me out here." He smiled at her through the mirror as he adjusted his second tie.

She sighed in fake exasperation, rolling her naked self onto her back as she tried to piece together her next sentence. "Well, swanning off to L.A isn't very protective now is it?"

Almost instantly, Tom's once again dapper self was hovering over her very much bare body. "Don't say that. You know I only accepted Carson's offer to join him on this business Poker Ball because of all the connections I'll be able to make. Fuck, we could get our breakthrough here, a partner, someone to help us start out. I'm doing this for us."

Nodding like a scolded child, Sybil gave a shaky smile; she had only meant to play with him, but realised Tom's devotion to her was on a level she had yet to understand. "I know, just- I- I'll miss you."

"Will you?" And it seemed her love was still above his comprehension. "Cos I know I'll miss you like crazy."

She wanted to say more, she really did. She wanted to tell him she would miss him _so_ much. That he should be careful, that this yearly Poker meet, full of legitimate entrepreneurs and lawless millionaires, was dangerous as well as promising and that he had to be back in four days, _without_ getting himself into trouble before here and then, but- "Bye Tom."

"Goodbye Sybil, I love you." And just like that, he swept from the room, slammed the front door, and was gone.

Sybil remained frozen on the bed as she listened out for the rev of his Bugatti, and smiling when she heard it's growl echo into the dark, early morning, rolled off the bed and slipped on Tom's discarded shirt. That was when she heard her phone.

"H-hello?" Her voice came a little breathless, the cause her desperate run for the phone and weight of a face licking Isis in her arms.

"What the fuck have you been doing?" Mary's voice came harsh and demanding.

"More like _who_."

"What?" Holy _shit_. Had she really just said that out loud? "You know what Sybil, congrats on your active love life. But seriously, keep your fucking phone close! Grantham needs you, for the Poker Ball."

It was Sybil's turn to be gobsmacked. "What? But- but- Cora? You?"

"Grantham's worried about this SS tension and I'm still on a job for the long haul, you have to go. Get packed. He needs you at Stansted in two hours."

A flood of shivering prickles erupted down Sybil's spine. Go to L.A? Where Tom would be? How dangerous... Ha! Who was she fooling? Not herself, that was for sure. She didn't care about the danger, though she should, no, her shiver was one of excitement. She could surprise him, perhaps they could sneak off, see a little of America together. Fuck, she really _did_ love him. "Mary I-"

"Look Sybil, you don't have a choice. Carson will have a guard and Grantham needs one too." And just like that, Sybil's excitement evaporated.

As hospitalised Matthew had yet to remember any particular details about his ambush, he had been unable to name the attacker. And as a result, Mary still remained unaware that Tom and Sybil had met since his '_death_'. But after this ball, Grantham would be sure to mention or be questioned about Carson's choice of guard and then...

Like Mary had said, she didn't have a choice.

o o o

The room was packed with more well known names than Tom could ever have imagined. In the far corner ordering a drink for a stunning women in red was the leader of 'Terreur', Paris's fiercest gang, in the middle of the grand hall, sweeping the perimeter with black eyes was the boss of the Italian mob 'Giustizia' and surrounded by a dozen guards was the man of the night, Declan Monroe, head of the unforgiving American 'Monroe clan'. Sure, there were straight laced, celebrity names too, but to Tom, every gang name was an opportunity.

It was set now, his and Sybil's future, it would happen, but only if he worked for it. A mere three weeks had passed since their choice, and in that time he had already managed to contact a few old friends in Dublin to ask them if they were up for some work sometime in the future, had located the best, most central area in Ireland to settle him and Sybil, and had even seen two of Satan's Servants outside associates about the possibility of branching out.

The first man, known to Satan's for his ability to access and hack CCTV had called him insane, crazy, had said that even if he didn't _plan_ to defy Carson, the old boss would certainly not see it that way. The second man however, a twisted accountant of use for calculating the amount of protection money paid to the SS by various businesses, had reacted rather differently. He had jumped at the idea, pound signs rolling in his eyes at the thought of having another gang to associate with, and had promised Tom, though he was loyal to no gang alone and simply aided when necessary, he could be counted on to join the venture.

Speak of the devil. "Good evening Mr. Branson."

"Mr. Clarke." Tom shook the offered hand of the smart suited accountant. "And you're here with...?"

Both men shook their heads to a waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes. "Open business. I work with the Russian's as well as the English, so it's a good opportunity to tie up some loose ends. And I'm assuming you're here as Carson's protection? Doesn't that feel odd, considering your future plans?"

For a moment Tom paused to regard the man. He didn't trust him, no, but he had faith in his love of money and business, so felt for now, the future plans could be discussed in confidence. "Not really. Carson is a good leader, yes, and I owe him I guess, but he can be a bit of a slave driver. Like I said to you when we last talked of my plans, I won't always be the sideman, that's not how I want to carry on."

"I understand. And I'm still willing to cooperate. Though I stress my name should not be mentioned, you may not fear the wrath of Carson, but I do." Tom nodded his promise when Clarke's dark, clever irises flashed as something caught his eye across the room. "Although, perhaps facing the boss will be worth it in light of the fact you will no longer be part of the LL feud? _Trust_ me, there are incredible benefits in coercing with that particular gang."

Noting that Clarke's voice had trailed off rather thoughtfully, and that his eyes were still flashing in one direction, Tom followed the gaze like a beam of light, and was faced with a blinding one. Walking down the eleboraty decorated, red swathed staircase of the hall, was Grantham, and on his arm was the love of Tom's life looking more radiant than any other woman in the room. Stroking a hand over her updo's sapphire studded headband, rapidly blinking her huge blue eyes, slinking down the stairs in a floaty, turquoise pair of silk trousers and lacy top, Sybil easily held her powerful posture.

Feeling his mouth curving at the corners, Tom pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he mentally peeled of the ocean blue silk and ran imaginary hands through her shining, twisted hair, undoing the bun and letting the curls fall down her smooth, pale back. And just like that, his mind was running away with him, every intimate moment spent with Sybil flashing infront of his eyes. The smell of her lotioned skin, the taste of her lips, the feel of her long slender limbs curving around him. Then, as quickly as the fantasy had appeared, it dissolved just as suddenly. Because, when Tom had turned back to Clarke, still smirking from his private thoughts, he saw that the little spark in the accountants dark eyes had become brighter. And with a sickening jolt in his stomach, he knew, he just _knew_ it; they were reliving the same memory.

"Tom, do you mind?" If the request had come from anyone but Carson, Tom knew that his fit of envy would have prevented him from fufilling it. But as it was, he gave one stiff nod to his boss and fell into step just behind him as they wound across the room. And in his flurry of jealousy, of hot, blood curdling, green eyed rage, he barely noticed where Carson was leading him until he looked up into the eyes of the Lords and Ladies leader. "Grantham."

"Carson, how pleasant to see you here." Trying to convert his rage into loathing of the LL's, Tom gave an obvious smirk to annoy the enemy.

"We wouldn't want to miss this event. Standards and tradition are important to Satan's Servants." The tension in the air was suddenly stifling, burning with hatred.

Grantham casually twiddled his cufflinks whilst glancing over Tom. "Really? I wouldn't have known. Lords and Ladies believe in the same of course, but with the added virtue of class."

Whatever effortlessly malicious comments graced the lips of the jaw clenched gang leaders within the next few moments was drowned by a sudden whooshing sound in Tom's ears. Sybil had just returned to Grantham's side, flitting a goodbye smile at whoever she had been talking to and turned back to find Tom staring at her. The fear in her eyes was evident, and if he was honest, their suddenly close proximty had his heart racing too. But unlike her, his heart was not beating a vicious tattoo in his chest due to their supposed position as enemies disguising their secret side as lovers, no, his heart was racing because he knew, somewhere across the room, another man was looking at her, his mouth open, his eyes glazed.

He tore his gaze away, his heightened emotions causing his lips to sneer. "Well, if that's all Grantham, I would very much like to go about the room. I have quite a lot to discuss with the Soldats..."

The next few hours passed in a blur for Tom. His anger and jealously had doubled in intensity since first seeing Sybil, because now, everytime he tried to corner a gang member to dicuss his plans or make connections with a possible associate, he found his eyes seeking her out. He just couldn't help it, knowing she was in the room, knowing that she might bump into Clarke, knowing full well that she was probably laughing and joking with some of the most evil people in the business, had his blood on fire. In fact, the burn became so strong, so acidic, that he eventually gave in to his pursuing eyes and sought her out.

"Come with me. _Now_." How he managed to whisper the words as he passed her so clearly he didn't know, but something within him told him that Sybil was now trailing his steps. Cutting the crowd with hands at women's backs, _certain_ women that was, the last thing he wanted to touch up a Mafia Don's mistress, Tom found his way to the kitchen door. And turning around to subtly enter, pushed open the door with his back, nodding his head at Sybil as he rolled into the glistening white tiled room. Almost instantly one of the chefs tried to ask him to leave, but to that he simply pulled back his jacket to reveal the Glock 17 beneath his belt. "Seriously mate, I'm just passing through."

Giving a sardonic grin at the chefs frantically nodding head, Tom swept through the back of the kitchen out into a grand hallway, an _empty_ hallway, lit only by a few dim lamps. That was when he felt himself turned about. Sybil clung to his arm, her eyes dancing, her lips curved in a coy smile. "This is dangerous Tom."

He shrugged her arm off. "Not really, if anyone walks in on an SS and LL arguing I very much doubt we'll hit the headlines."

"Arguing?" His anger toward her wavered slightly as she drew back her hand as though burned.

But then he thought of- "Clarke? Daniel Clarke?"

If he hadn't already been one hundred percent sure of his suspicions, Sybil's suddenly guarded body language would have confirmed them. "What about him?"

"Oh, I don't know. It's just next time I decide to try coercing someone to aid our future, when were laid in bed discussing how I've managed to find us a supporter, perhaps you could mention that they're an ex?" Hands in his pockets, Tom paced the width of the hallway, his breathing and steps heavy.

Sybil paused for a moment as though weighing her next words. "He isn't an ex. We were never in a relationship, I didn't think it was important to mention. It was jus-"

"If you say just sex I'll fucking screw!" His anger was all he knew right now.

His girlfriend however seemed entirely collected, stubborn. "I won't say it then."

The following silence consisted of a lot of huffing on his part, and a steely stare on Sybil's. "When was the last time?"

"I hope you're not suggesting what I _think_ you're suggesting?" Her stare was blazing now.

Did he think she had cheated? No, of course not! He loved her, trusted her, _really_ trusted her. But some sick part of him just had to know when she had last- He couldn't think of it. "No, I'm not."

She exhaled loudly after a moment. "After Amsterdam. It's only ever been just s- It's only ever been casual."

"After we slept together for the first time?" His hurt voice was a startling contrast to his rough emotions.

"Yes. About the time you were fucking _Gwen_ I believe." Damn, she had him here, and the almost grim satisfaction on her face proved she knew it.

"Since when?" _Fuck_, what was with this self torture?

Her answer came immediately, and he suspected she knew he was going to ask such a question. "A few months after I joined Lords and Ladies. I also have- _had_- a casual relationship with a Carl Jenkins, Grantham's property sales advisor. Previous to that I lost my virginity to a school friend at the age of seventeen and had a brief relationship with a guy at Uni. You, Tom, are the fifth man I have slept with. Now, do I want to know your sexual history? No I fucking don't, you absolute _wanker_!"

The moment she turned to leave, Tom felt all his previous jealously and anger slink away from him, creating a green and red puddle at his feet. He felt stupid, ashamed of what could only be described as an immature sulk. But it had just gotten to him _so_ much. He had never been in love before, never cared about someome so much, and maybe his anger hadn't been entirely at discovering what he had, but maybe born from his worry that Sybil didn't, _couldn't_ love him as much as he loved her. "Syb I'm sorry. Sybil! Listen!" He swiftly came to a tense stance infront of her and took her waist. "I just- I- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have acted that way. And I don't care if you've slept with him, or the whole room for that matter. You're with me now, and I love you, it's just sometimes I don't know if you want this just as much as I do."

He smiled weakly at the end of his explanation, almost proud of himself for delivering the lines so quickly. But that smug feeling quickly scampered away like a spooked rabbit when Sybil drew her bottom lip tight between her teeth and stepped away from him. "Don't think I want this? Don't think I _want_ this? For fucks sake Tom! Do you know what I'm giving up for you? My gangfellows, my friends, no, infact I'd even consider them a family, you don't know them! And what about my work, my wonderful, wealthy, want-for-nothing lifestyle! I've willingly decided to put myself in danger for you, because I _love_ you! And you question if I want this? No- don't talk- I'm speaking! You know, for the last hour I've been talking to the wife of the Terreur boss about her brothels. Because as much as I _despise_ such places, I know we'll have to run some. So I have voluntarily spent the last sixty minutes discussing the best way to keep the girls safe, keep their respect and diginity whilst they work for my, _our _future gang, right under Grantham's nose! Do you know how _scared_ I was doing that?"

Feeling like the biggest twat on the planet, Tom drew his shaking girlfriend into his arms, surprised at her almost eager response, and held her tight in his arms. "I'm sorry, Syb, I'm sorry."

She shook her head against his neck. "I do love you Tom, okay? But I'm risking a lot all the same and-"

"Shh, I know, I'm sorry. What are you doing here by the way?"

She struggled slightly, but Tom held her close. "Grantham decided on bringing a guard. And I thought you would be happy to see me! But apparen-!"

"Look I'm sorry, I am. And I am so happy to see you. When I saw you walking down those stairs..." He kissed her then.

And then she was kissing him. His kisses were sorry, regretful. Hers were desperate, thoroughly convincing. He had her against the wall, drawing back only for brief seconds to gaze at her flushed features beneath the dim, flickering, orange glow of the stained lamps. They were lost, lost in their apology, lost in their love, lost in their promise. So lost in fact, that the person who had watching them from across the hall managed to walk almost directly behind them before speaking.

"Now, are you going to explain, or are you going to make me ask?"

In one swift moment, Tom tore from Sybil's heavenly embrace and stared directly into the eyes of their appropriator. And in a move so stupid, so utterly, entirely, unbelievably stupid, he reached out his suddenly icy fingers and twined them around Sybil's shaking ones. "I'll explain."

_Please Review ^^_

_A little apology coming up... I go to Spain as of Tuesday for a week, which means I will not have time to write a KYEC chapter. So, chapter 18 will not be out next Monday, but the Monday after. Ever so sorry hunnies! I did try to write a chapter to post on the day I got back. But I didn't want to rush it for the sake of it. My only offer to you is that I have recently begun reading a Gang genre book series by author Jessie Keane. The series is as follows, '1-Dirty Game', '2-Black Widow', '3-Scarlett Woman' and '4-Playing Dead'. They are a little gritty, but uttering gripping! So maybe those can take my place?_  
><em>(Lil tip, these books are quite popular right now, so don't buy brand new, there will be plenty in used bookshops or charity shops!)<em>

_In the meantime however, Btvs has created another of her fantastic videos, so please watch and please comment. She never thinks she done well, and I sit here smiling like a clown everytime I watch one!_

www .youtube watch?v=j9rl-wCUnQ4


	19. Dance, Dance

_Chapter Song - Dance, Dance by Fall Out Boy_

_' You always fold just before you're found out, drink up it's last call, last resort. '_

. . . . . . . . . .

It was that moment when the water engulfs you, blocks your ears and tears the back of your throat. That moment when the plane takes off, leaving your stomach behind and blurring your vision. That moment when the fire scolds, burning your skin and has your entire body flinching.

_Should she have left him?_

_Could he really explain?_

_Would they survive this?_

As Sybil staggered back through the kitchen, subconsciously dodging twirling chefs and sliding against glistening appliances, she felt utterly disconnected from her senses. Her shaking palms smacked against the door to the grand hall with such force that she would have winced in pain at the sharp ache in her wrist was her life, and hers lovers life, not in sudden peril. Those closest to the swinging door jumped back, many closing in around important figures in groups and smacking hands against their gun laden crotches, but taking note of her non-threatening stance, casually moved aside and returned to their subtle vigils.

For a few brief minutes, Sybil crept through crowd, trying to ignore the unbidden idea that every body she slid by represented a chunk of her life tumbling away from her, disappearing into a bright mound of colour. To think like that would be to accept that this was really it, really the end, and there was no way she had ever let an idea like that consume her in the past. Yes, the past, that was what she had had to focus on right now. She had stood her ground when Mary had discovered her love for Tom, and she had little choice but to now hope for the same in front Grantham.

And now she was running, swiftly edging around people who seemed to be of another world, laughing and smiling without a single care. A world in which her and her utterly forbidden lover had not just been discovered, had not just had their lives thrown onto the fire. How hadn't they seen her stood there? The woman so well known to be in Carson's pocket? How had they been so foolish, so stupid, so reckless? She felt sick with the thought of what she now had to do, bile rising and falling in her throat, desperate to be heaved yet so determined to stay and throb. Her only comfort was that should their finder decide to attack, Tom could overpower her. But knowing an attack was a possiblity only made her need to find Grantham even more necessary.

But while she became frantic with every passing second, twinkling lights blurring her vision, murmered deals humming through her ears, expensive scents invading her nostrils, she failed to realise how obvious her panic would be until- "Miss. Sybil Crawley isn't it?"

The second Sybil looked up into the mismatched eyes of left piercing blue and right mahogany brown, she felt as though she had slammed into a brick wall. Even if she had been running from a tsunami, fleeing a stampede, dodging a bullet, she would not have passed this man by, and so she could not now. "Mr. Monroe, you know my name?"

"And you know mine?" With his caramel Brazilian skin, slim but strong build and light dusting of rich black hair, the leader of the Monroe clan was what Sybil could only describe as beautiful. But his eyes were sharp, and his bodyguards lethal and plentiful, so any thoughts she had of beauty were swamped with those of danger.

"Of course. Who doesn't? You're a very powerful man Mr. Monroe." And I really need you to let me go because the man I love is going to have his gang on him at any second.

"If I'm so powerful, why do your eyes tell me your focus is not on me, but on another?" There was a reason this man was the big boss.

Sybil took a deep breath as she considered her next words. The man before her could have her killed infront of the entire British army and ensure not a single reaction, so to act uncaring was a death wish. But for this moment her care _was_ on another, and she _had_ had death wish tattooed across her forehead from _that_ first kiss. "You're very perceptive."

"Perceptive is the word." He rolled his shoulders in his slick silvery grey suit. Sybil noticed his lack of tie and saw that his shirt was styled so as not to accommodate one. He was the only man in the room wearing such casual attire, and he knew it. "Now, while _your_ Mr. Tom Branson deals with the consequence of you slip up, might I ask you to accompany me onto the balcony."

"How do-? You know about To-?" In her stammering of utter shock, her quick as light wonder of how Monroe's knowledge could effect her, Sybil barely felt the hand at her back.

Declan Monroe smirked downward, his mismatched eyes never leaving hers for a moment as they swept out into the cool night air. "Did you know I was a devotee of Shakespeare, Miss. Crawley?" She shook her head, forgetting for a moment her own dire circumstance as a prickle of unease, not a product of the evening breeze, crept up her spine. "Oh yes, I'm quite the admirer. And can you guess my favourite of the bards great plays? Think carefully now."

Tom was about to have his gang turned against him. She had to tell all to Grantham now in a slim hope of protection. The fiercest gang boss known to man knew of her treachery. Her head hurt a _bitch_. "I'm sorry I-"

"Think-" He edged closer, Sybil felt her spine push against the balcony's stone wall. "-carefully."

No air, none whatever so ever. All oxygen seemed to have been sucked from the atmosphere. She wanted to cry, to scream and wail and thrash around on the floor. People were partying while she wrestled with the knowledge that her whole world was morphing into darkness around her. Carson would soon know, Tom would be hurt, she needed to tell Grantham, needed to get away from this deadly figure of a man. The man who knew of her forbidden lov- "Romeo and Juliet."

"You're a clever girl-"

"Woman." She hoped her shy smile would soften the blow of her correction.

"Ah, a very clever _woman_, Miss. Crawley. Yes, I am a passionate man you see. Capable of great evil maybe, but of even greater love." He looked over her then, and she watched as his eyes turned from brief desire to a stare of persuasion. "I have contacts in every state of America, and have gang control of almost half, so do you really think keeping up with the affairs of London are a problem for me? Yes Sybil, your and Mr. Branson's relationship has been as much of a thrill for me as it appears to have been for you. But it is your plans for the future that I would most like to discuss."

"Our plans? Our gang?" She was becoming angry now. If he was so aware of her predicament, why wasn't he letting her go to save it? Not that she would _ever_ say that allowed. If tonight was to be her last, she was going to let it last as long as possible.

"Yes, of course. Though if there is some sort of wedding planned I didn't know about I do hope I'll merit an invitation?" His cool, easy smirk had yet to leave his face and his demeanour seemed even more smooth and natural as he leant over the barrier to stare out over the dark, twinkling Los Angeles night. "There is more though."

Sybil edged back on her heels a little as she glanced back toward the arched glass doorway emitting a hum of conversation and flashing with the passing shadow of bodies. She could run now, whilst Declan wasn't looking, but she was no fool. They may seem to be alone on the ornately tiled balcony, but she was certain that even one step toward the door would bring fourth a flurry of Monroe heavy men. She turned back to the gang boss and pressed her palms to the stone wall. "More?"

He sniffed, stroking and tugging his lapels straighter. "Are you familiar with the tale of the star crossed lovers?"

Squinting as she looked back into her memory with difficultly, Sybil's head swum with English classes filled with note passing and shouted jokes. Science had been her forte. "Only basic knowledge. Forbidden love, death, the famous tragedy."

He laughed at that, and though she was sure he genuinely meant it in humour, a man of such danger could never laugh without creating intimidation. "A wonderful six word description Miss. Crawley, though I would love to offer you a little more depth. You see, the lovers, though forbidden, are wed with the intention that their familys will reunite. But the tensions of the family are at too high a level of hate for such an event to occur. Eventually Romeo makes a mistake that separates him from his love, and Juliet's grief at his departure leads to the creation of a plan that eventually initiates the ultimate tragedy of the play."

His pause seemed momentary, but Sybil soon realised the caramel skinned gang boss hoped for a reaction. "I can't help feeling you're telling me this for a reason Mr. Monroe."

That _laugh_, her blood ran cold. "And here I am thinking you were paying very little attention, what with your twisting hands and flicking eyes. But be patient Sybil, I'll let you back to _him_ soon." Her heart began to pound. So he knew she wanted to go, for Tom, yet he was keeping her like a cat with a mouse? Of _course_ he was, this was _not_ a nice man. "You see, I've often wondered, that had Juliet concluded to join Romeo in his banishment, would they have left together, and avoided the tragedy? Wouldn't their deaths have been bypassed entirely if they had been together, even if only them two in the world? I think so, don't you Miss Crawley?"

The fog cleared almost instantaneously. "You think we should run?"

With a smirk still plastered to his face, Declan clicked his fingers and as though from the darkness a waitor materialized before them to hand him a tumbler of Disarono. "Yes, I do. You and Mr. Branson have been playing with fire for far too long now. I think it's time to run from the flames rather than fanning them any further. You see, how am I to extend my reign to dealings in Ireland if my asossiates fall at the first hurdle? Am I making myself clear?"

"Crystal clear." Her jaw felt tight, wound like a vice.

Very slowly, his blue and brown eyes locking onto her midnight shade, Declan Monroe took a sip of his drink. "Good. Now go to him."

She didn't need telling twice. But for some reason, as she reached the arched frame of the doorway to her lover, she turned back. "Who are _you_ in the play Mr. Monroe?"

"It varies." His smirk melted into a soft, thin line as he considered her with a tilted head. "But right now Juliet, you may call me Paris."

Refusing to play into the flirtatious charms of a man so perilous, Sybil stepped into the throng of formally attired Poker Ball guests. Her path was clear now, it was not to Grantham to confess all, no, it was to Tom, to run with the secret and never look back. Her insides grappled together inside of her at the thought. She had had barely any time to really contemplate all she was about to do, but the pretty basic view was that she was giving up everything. But it was easy considering she was doing so to gain _more_.

Her steps suddenly lighter, Sybil glided through the crowd to find the love of her life, and in her dream like state was startled to feel a small hand around her wrist, and even more startled to have to tell the truth after all.

o o o

Pressing a clenched fist to his forehead and wrapping his rough fingers tight around his knee, Tom concluded his tale. "So that's it, I'm in love with her, I want this future with her."

"_Jesus_ boy, how could you be so stupid?" After a considering pause, Elsie Hughes spat her words like venom and began pacing the room just as Tom had a mere hour before, having found out his business had once quite literally clashed with his personal life.

He had to smile at her remark, how many times had he asked himself that same question? "I didn't try to be stupid. I couldn't help it. Weren't you listening to _all_ that?"

Elsie sighed heavily placing a shrouding hand to her forhead. "Oh yes boy, I was listening to every- bloody- word."

All he wanted was to see Sybil. Throughout his entire recollection of their past, he had been wondering where she had ran to. His only thought was that she must have left, but something seemed off about that. So maybe she was keeping things normal, mingling with the big names just a few feet away. Urgh, he had to see her. "Elsie look-" He had never called her that before, but now didn't seem the right time for formality's. "-we both know that in the next half hour you're going to go in there and tell Carson everything. So why not just cut the torture and do it now? I'm not going to hang around to see it obviously, but I'd rather it was done."

Elsie Hughes breathed for the longest pause yet. "I wish it were that sim-"

Her words were silenced by a young girl bursting through the door adjacent to the kitchen. "I'm sorry to interupt again Mrs. Hughes but Mrs. Patmore doesn't think these American staff are working to her standar-"

"Daisy! Tell Mrs. Patmore that if she doesn't think the staff are up to standard she can complain to Mr. Monroe himself. He didn't ask Carson for our world renowned service for nothing after all. Oh, and please mention that if she is still fuming that we have replaced her temporarily at The Abbey with Mrs. Bird for the weekend duration then she can address this with Mr. Monroe also! Now get inside!"

Tom could not help but laugh as he slipped his gun back beneath his belt; the banging open of doors had him quite on edge. But the moment it closed and silence descended upon them, so did his awareness of the situation he now found himself in. "Look, just go to Carson, okay?"

"No, you _look_. You're a good lad Tom. I know Carson values you quite highly, so why you would risk it all for some fling- No, listen; you say love, I say fling. I may not be a woman of the world but I don't live in a sack." Tom felt angry now, flustered. Why wouldn't she just go to Carson already? "I know I work for Mr. Carson, but I'm not part of your gang world and I don't ever intend to be. So the way I see it, you are just a man, not a criminal, and I will not be responsible for the death of an innocent man. Because that's what would happen you know, he'd kill you."

Tom ran his palms through his hair slowly, confused, before slipping them into his pockets. "You're not going to tell Carson?"

The wizened eyes of Elsie blinked back at him. "Not now, no."

"The real reason?" The words slipped past Tom's lips before he could check them. He knew he should take the given explanation and go with it, but Mrs. Hughes was close to Carson in a way like no other, and as such had seen her fair share of innocent's murdered; would his death honestly effect her?

"You've got a nerve boy." He could only give a guilty grin as she crossed her arms. "A long time ago a man I think I loved proposed to me. But at that time, Carson had just offered me the post as Abbey manager. I did well and I didn't want to give it up. So I told him no. But all this time, even with the great money and through living the dream, I've wondered; would I have been happy leading a normal life? It's been with me as long as I can remember lad, and if you have a chance to experience both, you need to take it."

"Elsie-" Oh God he wanted Sybil. "-I don't know how to thank you."

The straight laced woman waved off his gratitude with a palm to the air. "Oh, I can't complain. I haven't led the ordinary path, but I've seen a bit of life and no mistake. But if I find that your plans have changed, that you want to harm Satan's Serv-"

"They won't. I promise, my plans won't change! I swe-"

"Tom! Shh boy, honestly. If they change I will tell straight away. But as of now, you have three months, do you understand?"

"Three months." He wasn't sure whether to be pleased or threatened by such information, but after a moments consideration in which his eyes honed in on a shattered gem of the hall chandelier, Tom realised he felt exasperated. "Those three months aren't to sort out my plans are they? They aren't time to get mine and Sybil's future in place are they? No. They're for me to realise that being with her isn't what I want from life after all aren't they? Well, here's a newsflash for you. In three months time I can bet you all the money in the world that you _will_ be telling Carson of how his upcoming golden boy is abandoning the team to be with the enemy. We will be together, I promise you that."

Shaking her head to the heavens in a way that had every muscle in Tom's jaw tightened painfully, Elsie headed toward the kitchen door before turning to back to offer once last predication. "Be careful my lad, or you'll end up with no job and a broken heart."

"What do you mean?" The kitchen door slammed shut. "What do you mean, eh? I told you! We'll stay together!"

Kicking out furiously at a spindly wooden chair in the hallway, Tom barely flinched as it tumbled to the floor. He knew he should be happy that the discovery of his and Sybil's relationship was to be kept a secret, but all the bad feeling of the night: Clarke and Sybil's past, his jealously, their discovery, the lack of faith in their future, had him shaking with a shiver of anger and frustration. So much for a weekend of business.

A weekend of business? The sudden remembrance of where he was brought Tom back to his senses instantly. He may have avoided having his treachery exposed for now, but he doubted his lack of presence would go unnoticed much longer. So, taking a long, airy breath, Tom drew his hands from his pockets, slipped through the kitchen, inwardly smiling at the chefs retreat, and slunk back into the buzzing room. Before he could consciously think to look for Sybil, his eyes already began scouring the room. His search for that stunning turquoise blue came and short, so when he caught sight of his salt and pepper haired boss, he told himself to end the search and to fall back into his role of Carson's guard for the evening. He could catch up with S-

"Sybil?" He had never been more thankful for the raucous noise of laughter and cheering as the main poker game continued play than the moment Sybil grabbed his arm in full view of the whole room. "What are you doing? People will s-"

She rolled her eyes at him in such a casual manner he wondered if he had suddenly crossed over into an alternate universe where his and her relationship was as acceptable as every other couple in the room. "Don't look so shocked. I wondered where the hell you were, I was starting to panic- Never mind. Look, if we leave now, Grantham is over the far end at the table and Carson is busy with the Soldats-"

Pulling his arm from her grasp and smacking it to his forehead in an attempt to gain some clarity of what the _fuck_ was going on, Tom stumbled back slightly. "Leave? What are you talking about?"

For a moment he saw a look of impatience pass her darting blue irises. "Well yes, like now. It won't be long before that Hughes woman tells Carson and we're going to have to run anyway. I nearly told Gran-"

"You what?" She nearly told _Grantham_? His blood was pounding like a steam train.

"No look, don't worry, I haven't. Monroe told me to run, and he's right, we're done now, finished if we don't try to make a break for it!" Her hand was on his arm again but he couldn't help shimmying from her touch. This was _insane_.

Monroe? Run? Finished? "Sybil I don- I don't understand. Why do we have to run? Hughes just told me she'll keep our secret for three more months, we can still carry out our plan!"

Something changed in Sybil then, he could see it, as clear and as obvious as a sparkling yellow sunrise. Her frantic, sharp, cautious demeanour melted before his eyes into a stance of defeat, weakness and torment. He watched, hand slowly falling from his hair, as she brought her own to her mouth. "N-no. No- she- she was going to tell Car- _No_!"

Realising that Sybil could soon reach a point of drawing attention to themselves, Tom placed a subtle hand to her hip and pushed her to the side of the crowd. "Sybil, calm down. What's wrong? Everything's fine. Hughes said she would keep quiet, you haven't told Grantham, so no one has to know!"

Sybil shook her head like a child, her eyes wild, her hands trembling. More than anything, _anything_, Tom wanted to take her paling face in his hands, run his thumb along her quivering lip, hold her shrinking body close, but he didn't fancy being murdered before he found out the cause of her sudden despair. "Oh Tom I- I told-"

Told? _Shit_. "Who Sybil, who did you tell?"

"Edith. She's here, and she's gone for Grantham."

o o o

Sybil closed her eyes tight shut and wrapped her fingers around one another in such a vice like grip it was painful. She couldn't bear to look at Tom's reaction to her admittance, his mouth slipping, eyes glazing. She desperately wanted to tell him she han't been stupid, that she had genuinely believed their relationship was about to be revealed anyway, so she hadn't known how wrong she had been to tell Edith everything._ Oh God._

"Sybil. Syb, look at me." She felt a palm ghost her face and just as quickly felt it torn away. She opened her eyes and felt her heart lurch with the sight of the horror struck Tom. "You're sure, yes? You told Edith and she's going to Grantham? _Sybil_?"

"I-"

_" And this has been going on for a year? Sybil how could you? "_

_" I couldn't stop it Edith. "_

_" You can, stop it now! "_

_" I don't want to go back! "_

_" What do you mean? "_

_" I know what it is to love someone now, to not be on edge every second of the day, to be happy for a good reason. I don't want to live for paying collection money calls or firing guns. "_

_" But how can you escape all that? "_

_" I think I've found a way to escape, with him. "_

_" Nothing too drastic I hope? "_

_" It is drastic. There's no going back once I've done it, but that's what I want. No going back. We're going to Ireland, we're going to start a new gang. "_

"-Yes. The moment I told her our plans she ran Tom, she's run to Grantham I know it. But I didn't care, I thought that everyone was going to know anyway. Oh God, why didn't I listen to Monroe?" As her knees buckled beneath her, she felt Tom reach out and take her shoulders. "I'm so sorry, I-"

"Darling stop. Now stand up and look at me." His touch, so familiar, was suddenly harder, more forceful and she gave in to his request, forcing herself to look into his intense gaze. "We have to run, you're right. But this will be it Sybil. If you leave with me you can't come back. Grantham will want revenge, which we can avoid, yes, but it means you can't _ever_ come back. I want this, I know I do. But forget me for a minute, think of yourself."

He had lovely blue eyes, Tom, her Tom. And right now they looked so full of want, so longing, that it would be difficult to say no to _anything_ he asked. And right now he was asking her to think of herself, so she would. Did she want this? Did she want to throw away her life of wealth, of danger and excitement to be with a man, the most forbidden man? Her life would be on the line, she would be followed, hunted. How many times had she played this moment in her head? The moment of choice, of the most important decision of her life. And here it was and- and- and there she was, seven years ago in Ms. Matson's English class, and she was listening...

_'My only love sprung from my only hate.'_

"Yes Tom." She laughed her reply, slightly hysterical. "Fucking hell let's go."

His smile was one she was sure she wouldn't forget for the rest of her life. "Alright then, I guess this is it."

As always, Tom was perhaps more forward than he ought to be and tried to take her hand, but Sybil was abruptly consumed with the idea that every pair of eyes in the room was upon them, and tore her fingers from his. "Outside."

The run through the crowd seemed to take mere seconds. Sybil did not look behind once, knowing full well that various guards about the room would have noticed their odd behaviour. She needed to run into this with all she had, and leave behind nothing.

The cool air hit her face like a hundred droplets of icy rain. And then she was being kissed. _Really_ kissed. Hands lacing, tongues stroking, noses brushing, lips smiling, kissed. She felt herself stumbling under the force of Tom's weight, so she wrapped her arms around his neck and inhaled his wonderful scent as his hand slipped from her thigh to his pocket. "Who's are these?"

Sybil took a moment to collect her breath before looking at the twinkling keys in his palm. "Let me go Tom, this is stupid, we shouldn't be like this out here, let's go."

He shrugged at her and loosened his arms as a valet came running over, his expression slightly frantic; clearly afraid of upsetting someone of their caliber."Here, this please."

Even in their completely endangered state, there was no denying the boyish joy in Tom's eye when the red Ferrari Enzo roared into sight. "This is ours? Tom?"

"I guess, but it- The keys were in my-" He didn't finish his sentence, but instead bounded lithely into the drivers seat.

Sybil however, shivering slightly, looked up into the nights sky and nodded a subtle thanks to Declan Monroe, smirking like a man with all the answers over the balcony. Now, it appeared, he was Friar Lawrence.

Slipping into the seat beside Tom, Sybil noticed for the first time how hard and fast her heart was beating. And when his fingers found solace wrapped around her own, she only just noticed how sweaty and clammy they were. Then when the car started a swift, beautifully smooth glide through the city, she only just realised how empty her stomach was. "You do realise what we've just done, don't you Tom?"

"I do, but I- Sybil, did you realise we were being followed?"

Please Review ^^

_Did you miss me? I do hope so because umm well, I'm going away again this Friday for week in Magaluf. Meaning once again there will be no update next week! But... I do have a plan, just a little way to keep you all connected to Keep Your Enemies Closer in absence of the update. If any readers are interested, I'm tempted to set the task of asking you to write quite an important KYEC scene for the next update, and whoevers I think is best, I'll use. I'm going to explain this further on Tuesday by adding an explanation chapter to this fic. Anyone interested? _

_Anway, I'll be quiet! Shh.. See you nex- See you soon ^^_


	20. Climax

_Chapter Song - Climax by Usher_

_'I've fallen somehow, feet off the ground. Love is the cloud that keeps raining down. Where are you now? When I need you around? I'm on my knees but it seems we're going nowhere fast.'_

. . . . . . . . . . .

Thank God for first class. There was no way she would have gotten away with flying in silk blue trousers and staggering stilettos in any class lower. The fabric would have creased, her feet would have been cramped, not to mention how over dressed and ridiculous she would have looked. Yes, praise the Lord for first class.

"Can I be in on that secret smile? God knows I could do with one!"

Sybil's thoughts slunk inward, the focus on her turquoise clad legs fuzzed a little as her eyes became accustomed to the continuous lightening whip of car headlights sweeping through the dark streets of London. Her thoughts of a clouded, sky high haven withering away with every corner turned.

"I'm just smiling at the fact that I can worry about my clothes when we've just fled America having been followed by God knows who, _so_ long has passed since I left Lords and Ladies with not _one_ person trying to locate me, we don't have a fucking clue how we're going to get to Ireland now Edith has told the fucking world and-" It took a sharp swerve of the Audi R8 across a busy road and down a side alley to stop Sybil in her tracks.

Tom's voice was drowned slighty by his skidding halt, but the way his flung back fist gripped tight to her head rest and how his crystal blue eyes flickered like a flame told her his words were fierce and impatient. "-said fucking hell let's go I had sort of gathered you were ready for this!"

Startled slightly by how loud Tom's voice had come now that they were no longer hurtling down the buzzing London streets, Sybil gave her all in return. "Ready for this? No one could be ready for _this_! Jesus Tom! Don't you have any idea how I'm feeling? I should have known everything was going to go wrong the moment Mary called me, when I knew Grantham would mention you were Carson's protection! I've been an idiot, an idiot! This is all my fault, if I hadn't told Edith none of-"

Tears that had been building through every passport check, every mile passed, every long wait, every thrill of fear suddenly came gushing from Sybil's eyes. Yet she felt no relief, only further anger at herself for being so weak when she had _never_ needed to be stronger in her life.

"Syb, you've got to stop this alright? All you keep going on about is how you've caused this but you made a mistake okay? You have got to let it go! I have!" She took a heaving breath at his words, her eyes now trained on a cat clawing a mouse down a crevice of the alley when Tom's hand took hers. "Yeah we're in the shit, I'm not gonna lie, but let's just keep focused on what we need to being doing. You want Isis yes?"

Pulling her stare away from the now sulking cat, Sybil allowed her tear stained eyes to look into Tom's. "Yes."

His faint smile glowed like a beacon in the darkness of the car. "Then that's step one okay? We'll get Isis, then we go to ours and get any of our stashed money, alright? How much do you have in your safe?"

They had been through this a thousand times on the flight home from America, but Sybil found the repetition was slowly calming her hysterical state and had never been more glad that Tom knew how to handle her. If she got overworked now that would not aid them in their plight for freedom. "Just over a million, but I'm only taking care of that for Gra-"

"I know, okay. But I've told you, we'll pay him back. One day... Right, so we empty yours, then we empty mine, then we go to The Abbey and grab my gun-" Sybil squeezed his hand briefly as he took a breath; the entire journey he had cursed himself for not carrying his _favourite_ gun. "-then we'll go to Scotland."

"Oh Tom I still don't think-" Her hands were in her hair now, her head pressed against the headrest in bored, defeated anguish.

"No- Look- Ireland is where they'll expect us to go. And when they realise we haven't they'll search London. We haven't got time to flee the country so Scotland's perfect."

She didn't agree in the slightest. Three years running alongside the worst of the worst, the most cunning of the cunning and the most fierce of the fierce had taught her never to underestimate her side. _Her_ side? Her _ex_-side. She thought of all the times in the past she had seen others try to make the same transition. They were never Lords and Ladies again, true enough, but they were never anything else either... Before she could voice her disdain to Tom's suggestion-

* "It's Edith," Sybil said in shock, recognizing the driver slowly edging toward them from across the dark alley before Tom managed to put some distance between them. She sat frozen, her veins no longer pumping blood as Tom pummelled the gearstick chucked his vision backward.

"Let's see if we can get rid of her then." Tom's eyes darted around the street as he reversed dangerously down the alley and accelerated well past the speed limit. "_There_."

"What are you doing?" Sybil asked, gripping the hand-hold above the window and wondering if she should start making peace with her maker. Tom was heading toward the end of the street which terminated in a row of buildings, but instead of turning he was accelerating faster and faster towards the very same gap between two of them.

"I'm trying to crash her," Tom told her, his voice tense as Sybil saw his eyes concentrate intently on another fast approaching alley. For a brief moment she felt a rush of regret that this was the only way to lose Edith, and silently hoped for a car spin rather than a crash.

Sybil couldn't help but close her eyes as they entered the narrow gap but there was no chorus of angels (or more likely for her, fire and brimstone). There was however, a very loud screech of metal on brick as the car cleared the end of the alley and Tom visibly winced.

Sybil whipped around in time to see Edith's car clear the gap successfully, scattering various pedestrians and clipping an abandoned shopping trolley, sending it spinning senselessly. "Shit, she's through," Tom growled, looking in the rear-view mirror, "better than I thought."

"Could just be lucky, she's never mentioned any particularly amazing driving skills." But even as she spoke the words some pushed aside knowledge came dashing forward and she was suddenly sure Edith had once been a getaway driver like Tom. Urgh, now was not the time!

"Wouldn't know from the way she's going," Tom said tightly, speeding through the city while keeping one eye in the rear-view mirror, "someone's taught her well."

He gritted his teeth as he worked the gearstick quickly, throwing them into reverse so suddenly Sybil was almost choked by her seat belt.

"Some warning next time," she muttered, rubbing her collar as Edith sped straight past them.

Tom didn't bother to reply, working the gears, pedals and the wheel simultaneously, executing a textbook three point turn and accelerating back the way they came. Thankfully the cars and people that had run out of their way stayed so and they got a good run before hitting another packed street. Tom swore profusely as he blasted the horn and wove sharply through the cars.

He soon had more reason to curse as Edith had recovered from his last trick and was once again drawing far too close for comfort.

"Why can't we lose her?" Sybil yelled, banging the dash in front of her in frustration, her worry mounting by the second; if Edith was onto them, surely Grantham must have sent out the others by now too?

"We need to get out of this traffic," Tom told her, ignoring the horns and shouted curses as they speed through the city. "We're having to wait for the traffic to _move-" _he broke off as he narrowly avoided wrapping them round a lamp post.

"And she's just following in way we've already cleared," Sybil finished, pressing her hands to the roof as Tom made another sharp turn, the rear end of the Audi whipping out at a harsh angle.

Tom nodded, his lips pressed tightly together as he navigated through the packed streets. Sybil found herself with her legs almost aching with the effort of keeping her feet pressed against the floor and kept her hands firmly on the roof in a desperate attempt to brace her body as Tom continued to swerve sharply through the city. People screamed as the car ran up onto the pavement but Tom quickly put them back on the road, cursing fluently as Edith seemed to effortlessly follow them.

"We're in the middle of London," Sybil yelled over the noise, "where are we going to find somewhere with no traffic?"

"I know my way Syb- Fuck- sorry, didn't see that. I know my way, all I need is to break out of London and we'll head for Scotland." Again his voice came strained from the effort of grinding the car.

She still wanted to argue that the idea was an impossibility, and that they would be leaving the country entirely bereft of any money, his gun, her dog, but she words that seemed to come from so long ago echoed across her mind 'Sometimes a sacrifice must be made for a future that's worth having'. It would never be the right time to come back to this life, it was over. They were on the run, now, and that was all that mattered. It was about time she got her head in gear. "But we might have to dump the car. They could track it."

"Hopefully not, hold on!" Sybil threw her hands back on the roof as Tom took yet a sharp turn, almost throwing the car onto two wheels before continuing. "We'll just change the plates and I know a guy who can paint it for us."

"A Servant's man?"

"The Servants deal with him but he won't give us away if we pay him."

"Are you sure?" Sybil asked, "I know you like the car but Edith will have it memorized by now and I'm sure someone's called the police. The police are only a nuisance I know but one we can't really afford right now."

Tom took his eyes off the street in front of him for just enough time to give Sybil a look of annoyance and she bit her lip, fighting the urge to snap at him. Now was _not_ the time to get into an argument over trust. One thing she did trust was Tom's driving but even the best made mistakes and she wasn't stupid enough to chance a shouting match in the middle of a car chase. Especially when their adrenaline was pumping and they would probably just say things they didn't mean.

She gave another yell as once again without warning, Tom reversed and turned quickly, the tires screeching as the car darted through a narrow alley and down another crowed street before following up with three rapid turns until Sybil properly couldn't have retraced their route if her life depended on it.

Tom gave a laugh which was mostly relief at still being in one piece and looked behind them. "Did she follow _that_?" he asked.

Sybil frowned twisting in the seat her entire body battered and bruised. "I can't see her," she told him, but the relief she felt was short-lived as she caught a glimpse of flashing lights through the traffic behind them. "Fuck."

To her surprise Tom laughed. "I started out as a getaway driver," he reminded her, "outrunning the police is nothing."

Sybil felt him accelerate and saw a familiar flash in his eyes. He was enjoying himself now. The regular street police were hardly more than an annoyance to either gang but they still provided a bit of a thrill to evade. And evasion was clearly a skill of his, as within moments, they had managed to fly down five more roads, twisting and turning at angles Sybil was sure Tom berated himself for putting the car through, and sped into huge, abandoned car park, swiftly sweeping into a dark corner.

"We've lost them?" Sybil asked, her voice sounding too loud in the sudden quiet. The sound of the city still continued but now that the screams and car horns they'd driven through for the past few minutes had faded, they might as well have been in silence.

"Maybe…" Tom frowned, bringing the car slowly to a stop but keeping the engine on. "I can't-"

Sybil heard Tom yell over her own scream and Edith's car came out of nowhere, slamming into the back of them and sending their car spinning across the concrete. Tom recovered quickly though and Sybil thanked whoever was still listening to her when he managed to get the car moving; Edith had done damage but not enough to stop them moving it seemed.

"Christ, she's good," Tom swore, his breathing still ragged from the shock.

"You're just going to have to be better then," Sybil told him, as the car roared louder beneath them and they sped off again. *

o o o

He didn't know how he had done it. And he definitely didn't know how he had kept sane whilst doing it. His worry for Sybil had almost drowned him with every sharp turn and screeched grind. But somehow he had pulled through, managed to keep driving and driving until the gears and wheels were all he knew. The journey had taken too many blurred hours, too many stops for restless sleep, too many nail biting car swaps, too many shared moments of pained eye contact, but it was over now, and they were... safe?

Tom had insisted that they stay somewhere nice, somewhere expensive to grab a proper nights rest, somewhere he could arrange a flight to Dubiln, to contact the few members of the new gang and get them ready for their arrival, but Sybil had wanted otherwise. So that's what they had done.

The Swan Inn of Chorley, Lancashire was a quaint, no, _battered_ old country road side B&B. They had found it whilst creeping their way to Scotland, but on their drive past Sybil had taken his hand and insisted they stay, that she felt she could be comfortable here and needed a break. Upon entering he had understood her want to do so. The place smelt stale but homely, he had had to duck below beams but the small entrace hall screamed cosy, and their little bedroom couldn't have seemed less like the beautiful houses they had just left behind.

And now he sat, watching as Sybil lay on the bed, still dressed in her breathtaking blue. True, nothing had gone to plan, infact more had gone wrong in the last 72 hours than in his life, but here she was, here _they_ were, and there was nothing left to do now but cling to eachother and aim for the future. He liked the idea of that.

His phone lit up across the room, but he wasn't quick enough to take the warning that it was about to ring and soon the walls were echoing the chime of the tone. He raised to scamper across the creaky floorbaords but Sybil stirred in the bed and he knew the damage was done.

"What time is it?" Her voice came a little muffled as she sat up to retie her messy bun, carefully slipping dark strands into the band around her fingers

"It's-" He tore his gaze from her briefly to check his watch as he sank back into the chair. "-about half two, it's still dark out. We're fine."

He watched her chest swell as she took a deep breath and waited with a faint grin for her to let it out. "Did you sleep?"

Tom shook his head. "Na, I might think we're safe here but I'm not about to completely let my guard down."

He was pleased when she did not argue; like him she understood they were far off from being out of the woods. "Would you like to sleep now?"

Shuffling in his seat, he winked at her, offering his biggest smile yet. "I prefer watching you. Makes me feel better than I think a nap of my own would."

Sybil sighed dramatically as she fell back on her pillow, but when she turned on her side to face him, her eyes were more alight than he'd seen them back in America as he'd ranted on about her and Clarke. Was that really only days ago? "This isn't the time to be all romantic."

"Anytime with you is the time to be romantic." His heart clenched a little, but not in a bad way, when Sybil snuggled hard into her pillow and mouthed the question '_Why?_' at him. "Because I love you, hows that?"

"Hmm, sounds about right." When she smiled, he noticed the shadows beneath her eyes, the slight unhealthy tinge to her beautiful pale skin; they _would_ get through this, they just had to.

"I don't think that's what you're meant to say in return." He leant forward and gave his best scowl as a light rain began painting the Inn. _Taptaptap_.

"Oh yes, what _was_ that reply?" Sybil creased her brow as she rolled onto the back.

"I think it goes a little like this. I love you t- How did you find us? How did you know?"

He had spoken the second the figure burst into the room, but it took him a moment longer to rise from his chair. And when he did, he could barely believe who stared back at him. For a fleeting second he wondered if he could be faced with anyone worse, even Grantham himself might have been less of a threat. For he had faced the woman infront of him once before, and the encounter had resulted with a bullet to the thigh and his lover in tatters. His split second recollection meant he had failed to notice Sybil scuttling to his side, but her heavy, panicked breathing beside him awoke his mind to the present... To the view of Mary, the proud LL, stood before him.

"Never mind that. Edith simply informed me of the situation. It seems everything got too much for her." Tom's stomach plummeted when he realised his gun and knife where in the jacket across the room; he'd never slip past the cool Mary without a bullet or blade to the chest. "At least nothing's happened, thank God, no Servants here yet."

"What do you mean _nothing's_ happened?" Tom was surprised to hear Sybil's voice come bold and confident. "I've decided to be with Tom, I've known he was alive for ages now and your coming after me won't change that, even if it does end it, even if this is _it_ for me and him. I don't regret this, I just regret my stupidity."

And then he understood. Perfectly, in fact. He had faced death this close before, and when he thought back, he remembered then how he too had refused to let his final moments be that of worry and weakness. If you were going down, you went down fighting, and in Sybil's case, she was going down defiant.

"This isn't the way." Edith's sudden appearance had both Tom and Sybil stepping backward; having been running from her mere hours ago the effect of her presence rung as a major threat to both of them. "You can't just run off like this, and if you had just fucking pulled over to listen you would have realised that I wanted you to know that. I couldn't barely believe it when you fled the Poker Ball, I tried to stop you. This is wrong, _so_ wrong, but if you're gonna do it you can't do it like this."

_What_? What did _that_ mean? It sounded as though Edith had been trying to _help_ them? No, _surely_ not? What? He wanted to look for Sybil's reaction, to see if the same thought was crossing her mind, but to take his eye off the enemy was not something he was accustom to.

"She's right. Of course Grantham and Carson will hate it. Well I know Grantham will, I can't be too sure how much Carson cares for his reputation." Mary's lip curled a little as her eyes fell to Tom's.

"Why should they? She's told you the plan hasn't she?" Tom waved his hand in Edith's direction. "We're starting a new gang, we're not trying to defy our old ones!"

Tom's own anger boucned back at him from Mary as though she were a reflective mirror. "Oh, shut the fuck up. You know I really should have killed you when I had the chance!" Before he could retort Mary stepped toward Sybil and his only goal was to reach for her hand. "Sybil, can't you let them get used to the idea? Take your stand and refuse to budge, but allow them time. That way you won't have to add fuel to the fire in this war! Did you know they'd killed Lavinia? No? A few hours ago, while you were on the run apparently." Tom laced his fingers with Sybil's, desperately trying to avoid turning from Mary to look into eyes of night sky blue. "I didn't kill him for the simple reason that I wanted you to want us, but clearly you've chosen him, so then why are you ruining your chance to make this work? I gave you the chance to decide for yourself, and right now you're choosing death!"

"They would never give permission, don't be so stupid Mary. What you really think Grantham and Carson are just going to say _sure, okay, go for it, thank you for betraying us_? Of course they're not, they'll kill us!" Tom felt Sybil's little nails dig into his skin.

"You don't need permission, you just need to make your reasons clear. Tell him you aren't against Lords and Ladies, tell him you aren't going to Satan's Servants, say whatever it takes. But for Gods sake don't run like this! You do need their forgiveness if you're not to start your new life under a black shadow!"

The sharp little nails Tom had felt slowly embedding themselves in his hot, prickled skin suddenly eased away. And as each nail plucked out of him, he felt the beats of his heart become heavier and heavier until he couldn't take anymore and finally turned to look at Sybil. And the sight he was met with broke his heart; her focus was not on him, but on Mary, on Edith, on Lords and Ladies. "Don't listen. She's pretending to be reasonable to get you back to London again. They'll kill you Syb, this is just a set up!"

"Ha! Even if I am trying to get her to London, even if I think this is mad, I know it would be better to do it in broad daylight and tell your leaders than to sneak off like a thief in the night and rile them up something vicious!" Mary's fist clenched slightly in her anger. "We care about you Sybil, and I just think you've been caught up in something beyond you. I'm not trying to kill you I swear, I could have done that the moment I discovered you two at Rosamund's, but no, I still want you to get out of this Sybil, even if it does mean with him."

It was that moment of watching the big race, the race to end all races, and the guy you've bet on isn't doing as well as you thought. And deep down, right in your gut, you know it's all lost before it's properly begun. Tom eased a palm around Sybil's cold face. "Go back with them, then. If you think they can make you happier than I will."

She did not pull away from his hold, but when her eyes met his, it was like watching his guy come last place, gasping for breath and trembling on a limp. "Am I so weak you believe I could be talked out of giving my heart in five minutes flat? But Mary's right. I don't like deceit and our leaders don't deserve it. Grantham's been good to me Tom, and Mary and Edith, well, I've clearly been wrong about them too. So, I'll go back with them. Believe it or not, I will stay true to you."

"Will you? How do I know you're not going to get a reaction from Grantham that makes you change your mind, that suddenly wants me as the next target in this war? Eh?" His heart was breaking for what felt like the thousandth time in his life.

Her soft lips at his cheek burst so many memories into his mind it was like a firework display. "You have to trust me. I love you."

Gone. She was gone. Just like that. Gone.

He turned to Mary. "I'll return to London in the morning. See if I can make excuses to Carson about my absence until me and Sybil have a plan. You're confident you can bring her round, aren't you?"

"Fairly. I'll certainly try." God he hated her so much. "Do you want help, with your excuse? You can take something of mine if you like? Say you had to chase an LL or something?"

The slight clip in her tone was unable to disguise the power she was trying to hold over him. She knew exactly what she had just done, knew that half his heart had just fled the room, that she was faced with a broken man. "No thank you, m'lady. I can sort myself out."

The second Mary slipped from the room Tom ran forward and slammed the door. He felt a brief thrill of embarrassment for allowing them into the secret of his weak control, but all at once the realisation of what had just happened settled upon him like fat raindrops in a stom and he saw red. The bed was upturned, the paintings quivered and fell to the floor, the walls were pounded, a window smashed right though, his gun and blade flung across the room like rocks, but nothing could quench his need to feel something more than the unrelenting ache in his chest.

How had this happened? _Again_? How many more times could he sit by and watch as the love of his life fell through his fingers like the tiniest grains of sand? The answer was unclear, and for that it was torturous. He couldn't walk away, that was impossible, but to stay waiting was like starving a man, a slow, agonizing wait until the end came crashing down.

And just like that, the answer came to him. He knew _exactly_ what he needed, what could do the job. He shouldn't, so shouldn't, but he was sick of this now, sick of the longing and rejection. And for just a few moments it would be bliss to escape the world he was tethered to. He would deal with the regrets later, would figure out a way forward in the come down.

Not stopping to properly consider the utter enormity of what he was about to do, Tom grabbed his phone and punched in a number. "Hey, yeah, it's Tom. Look I'm going to need some gear, heroin yeah?"

The voice on the end of the line came quick and gravelly. "Didn't know Carson was planning anymore sales tonight?"

"Oh this one's a private job, thought I'd tackle it by myself."

_Please Review, DO IT, who said that? ^^_

_Sorry this chapter is a few hours late guys, the aftermath of two holidays one after the other nearly killed me! Sleep was my only option!  
>Now, do you remember the challenge I set? Well I ended up with 6 entries (I've PM'd all you lovelys, but let me know if you haven't got it cos my internet wonderfully decided to keep cutting out!) and it took a long time to pick a winner. But in the end I chose the entry by Repmetsyrrah. This area marked * * is her entry mixed with a few tweaks and input of my own, but her car chase had me on edge so I knew you guys would enjoy it too!<em>

_No more holidays, boo, so see you next Monday!_


	21. I Won't Give Up

_Chapter Song - I Won't Give Up by Jason Mraz_

_' I don't wanna be someone who walks away so easily I'm here to stay and make the difference that I can make.'_

_. . . . . . . . . . . _

It was a Thursday. Of that he was sure. Maybe. Well, the reporter had introduced the evenings news as Thursday's. But how long ago had that been? Minutes? Hours? _Days_? No, it was Thursday, definitely Thursday. And it had been one, no, _two_ weeks since he had last seen her. Two weeks, a fortnight, a painful, agonizing fortnight...

"No, _no_!" Throwing himself to the sofa, Tom wrapped his fingers in his hair, closed his tearing eyes tight and continued to scold himself. "Don't, it's not worth it, not worth it."

After another ten minutes, rolling and writhing on the sofa, Tom sat up and spat unapologetically onto the carpet. He was glad, actually, when he did feel wrong for having done something so disgusting, because wiping it away would give him a distraction, no matter how brief, from looking at the door. The door concealing his next euphoric fix, waiting for him, calling for him...

"Cloth, cloth, get a cloth." Stumbling slightly on the cushy carpet, Tom slumped into his kitchen and roughly tore off a sheet of kitchen roll, his elbows holding his full weight on the cold counter. "Go clean it up, go clean it up."

Staggering back to the small pool of sticky saliva, Tom fell to his knees and began vigorously rubbing the carpet, cursing as twirls of tissue flecked into the red rug. Then, satisfied his carpet was clean, Tom threw the damp tissue aside and flopped gracelessly back to the sofa, lolling his head toward the ceiling.

He was exhausted, drained, dehydrated _again_, tetchy, anxious, weak. Had been, infact, ever since the last comedown. He played the mistake again in his mind, the most stupid mistake. Sybil had gone, he was in tatters, he took heroin in hand, took the _cowards_ way out. The first week he had managed to convince Carson he had indeed fled the Poker Ball in an enemy pursuit that lasted longer than expected, but even after his bosses acceptance he had run home and taken the cowards way again. Four times that week he had smoked that dirty, vile, evil stuff. Each time vowing not to go there again. But it was not till the second week that he had finally begun to listen to himself. Because come the second week, he had yet to see her, yet to seek her out, and if he was ever to do so he must do so with a clear head.

In theory, it all seemed logical. The drugs, or the love of his life? Simple. Her, _every_ time. He had made a mistake, and if his desperate struggle out of it poved his love he would take it, _was_ taking it. But that wasn't how it was, and that was what was killing him. Because it wasn't _his_ love that needed proving, it was hers, _hers_, the one who had left, had walked out, and had not yet returned. Oh God it hurt...

"No, no no no!" He ran back to the kitchen then and shoved his head beneath the tap, the gush of cool water running like ice over his mumbling lips. "Oh Jesus Sybil, why?"

o o o

Sybil plucked at each finger of her glove, blowing an icy mist into the February air as she pressed her black clad body against the stone wall. South Kensington was far enough from her nights burglary to feel safe from the police, but half the area was Satan's Servants territory, and for that her guard remained up. Yet she had to be here, she just had to.

Her worry at not having seen Tom, gradual at first, had recently snowballed. Now she could barely sit still, could barely eat or sleep, had barely been able to concentrate on any job since they had parted. She had been waiting, _waiting_, for him to come to her, and had gone to his home over and over. But he never showed, and he was never in. The house was always dark, an answer never came. Everyday she waited for the Lords and Ladies news that a Servant had been thrown out, or hurt, or _worse_. But nothing. Until tonight. Tonight there was a light on.

"Tom! Tom it's me! It's Sy-!"

"Sybil?"

"T-Tom? Are you-?"

Before Sybil could finish her sentence, Tom had dragged her into the hallway of his grand apartment and slammed the door shut behind them. All at once they were bathed in darkness; the light she had seen must have been the lounge light, but the brief moonbeam had revealed something about Tom wasn't right. His skin was covered in a sheen of sweat, his eyes seemed to be unable to focus on one point and his body was tensed yet shaking all at once.

But her analysis of his physical state had been brief, and to be fair, their time apart and quick separation had probably been draining to her also. So when she felt his hands snake around her hips and pull her into an embrace so tight she could barely breathe, she matched his fervour and pulled him closer.

"I thou- I didn't think you were coming back." Sybil felt the warmth of Tom's words against her neck, staggered slightly by a few kisses to her skin.

For a moment she didn't reply, for her mind was once again wandering to the idea that something was off about Tom, but then her voice returned to her, as did her indignation. "Not coming back? Tom I've been over here four times, you've never been in! And you haven't been looking for _me_ ha-?"

"You've been over _four_ times? But I never-? Oh..." The shock in his voice told her he wasn't joking, and it also told her how honest his earlier confession had been; he really _didn't_ think she still wanted him.

Pulling out of his hold, though she noted with a small smile his hands still held loose her hips, Sybil raised a hand and ran her thumb over Tom's lip. "Of course I was coming back. I promised you. The other night wasn't the end, I thought you understood that? I said I loved you." She watched, eyebrows joining, as Tom ran a shuffling palm through his hair and slumped back against the wall. "Tom, what's going on?"

And just like that, he changed. Suddenly he wasn't agitated and distant, now his eyes blazed with something she couldn't quite grasp, purpose maybe? But she had little time to think on it as suddenly Tom's hand was firmer at her waist, pushing her toward the door. "Syb, you can't be here. Not right now. I'll- I'll come find you in a few days when I'm sort- when things are sorted."

"Sorted?" She shouted rather loudly as she tried to resist Tom's force. "What needs sorting? Tom I've come here to tell you something. And it's important! Tom, stop!"

Both breathing heavily from the struggle, Tom and Sybil stared at eachother across the dark hallway. But when Sybil made the attempt to edge into the living room, she felt herself restrained once again. "You can't come in Syb, please, just go home."

She would have snorted in disbelief had her heart not suddenly decided to stop on her; as if she was going to leave. So, pulling her arm slowly from his grasp, she reached behind her, not taking her eyes from his, chips of blue in the darkness, and flicked the switch. All at once she knew her instincts had been right, something with Tom was just- not- _right_. "Who's in there?"

"What?" His tone may have been questioning, but Sybil's trained eye told her his slight movement toward the door meant he was hiding something. She felt a little sick.

"Tom, who- is- in- there?" Her clenched jaw, a reaction to the swirl of worry building in her gut prevented her from further speech, but when Tom didn't answer she took a deep breath and continued. "Is there someone in there?"

She wanted him to say yes, to say that there was a Servant in there, that she was in danger. But deep down she knew that he would never have let her past the front door had that been the case. So when he did say yes, she almost really _was_ sick. "Yeah, there is, I have a- uhh a friend over, you can't be seen."

The sweating skin. The darting eyes. The shaking body. The _guilt_? "You- you've been cheating on me?"

Nothing, not a fifty foot wall, not a barricade of armed police, not a cavernous hole burning with lava could stop Sybil pushing past Tom. He tried, but she was having none of it, her veins on fire with a substance she could not name. She could hear Tom shouting, could hear his steps thundering along behind her, and even in her cloud of fury she did not fail to notice how those steps and shouts heightened the closer she got to his bedroom. But then, as her trembling fingers reached out to push against the last barrier to the answer, the commotion stopped.

Sybil didn't look at Tom, but his voice came from further away than she expected; retreating maybe? "I'm sorry Sybil, I should have been stronger."

She opened the door. She flicked on the light. She took a breath. She tried not to see. She tried to blot it out. "Oh Tom, tell me you didn't?"

o o o

"-and then I realised that I had to stop. That I couldn't put myself through this again. I only broke once this week, I swear, it's been two days since I touched the stuff." Tom wished more than anything that Sybil would look at him, but whatever his bookcase had to say was apparently far more intriguing.

Three full minutes passed before she spoke, her clenched fingers pressed to her lips. "So right now, you're not high, you're on a-?"

"A come down." He winced a little at the phrase. "Well, not so much a come down, more a withdrawal period."

Two minutes this time. Progess? "And the stuff I saw. You've only been taking it that way?"

"Yes, God, I swear, I only smoked the stuff." He rubbed his sweating palms on his jeans, his legs jiggling as though electrocuted. "I haven't injected anything."

Thirty seconds. Yes, this was progress. "You promise? And don't lie to me Tom Branson."

Didn't she realise how much it killed him to lie to her? How much it had hurt to try to cover up his deception? She would only ever get the truth from him now, he couldn't hide anything from her. "I promise, Sybil I swear to-" He got up from the armchair to crouch on the floor beside the sofa and took her hands in his. "I swear to you, all I've told you is the truth."

For a long moment he stared up her, silently relishing the way her warm fingers seemed to still all the shakes in his body. Her eyes however remained on the shelf of books, though not moving in any indication that she was actually focusing on any of them. But he waited, and soon his patience paid off. Because when she eventually looked down at him, her big, blue, sad eyes seemed to crinkle in a way he feared he would never see again. It wasn't a smile, no, but it _was_ encouragement. He kissed her fingers, one by one.

"Have you been drinking?"

"I- No-"

A little butterly broke free and fluttered in his stomach as Sybil gave the faintest smile, sighing as she shook her head. "Not _drink_ drinking, I meant water. Have you been drinking water?"

He nodded his head but gave a contradicting answer. "No."

"Right, so you have-haven't? That's interesting." He almost fell backward when she swept up from her seated position and sauntered into the kitchen. But he was right, her touch had stilled his body, for now, and he managed to keep his balance before rising. He was on the verge of following her when her voice rang back to him. "Sit down would you? Oh actually, go grab the spare room duvet first, and a hoodie."

Stumbling a little, not from weakness but eagerness, Tom made good of Sybil's request and returned to the living room being swallowed by an armful of duvet. At first he didn't realise she was tugging the material cloud from his grasp, but when she managed to relieve him of it he could barely contain his smile at the sight infront of him.

His coffee table was laden with a jug of water, and multiple full glasses, a bowl of crisps, a loaf of bread and one steaming mug of tea. _Her_ mug. A late new year gift from him. A teddy bear mug with ceramic ears. He had thought it looked like Isis.

He ran a fluttering palm across his SS stamp. "Syb-"

"Don't say anything and just sit down would you. No, not the armchair!" He froze at her warning and waited curiously for her explanation. "How are we both supposed to fit in an armchair?"

"Aye aye Nurse Crawley." Murmured Tom stepping back from the armchair as though it were a wild animal.

Before him, Sybil slipped off her jacket and top, replacing it with the offered hoodie, then shimmied out of her tight black jeans. He refused to blink the entire time. "Move over."

Everything seemed to be moving so slowly. Sybil tucking into his side beneath the duvet. Him winding an arm around her waist to pull her closer. Her leaning forward and bringing a glass of water to his lips. Him spluttering from the force of her insistence. Her cursing him then forcing him another glass. Him downing what he could then reaching for her tea. Them huddled together, her snuggling, him shaking, her sleeping, him sighing with relief that he had been spared drowning in his own living room. This was love. He had let her down, _really_ let her down, and here she was, taking care of his loser self when she could be anywhere, with _anyone_.

A few hours passed, a time filled with little speech but much movement; more drinks, tighter embraces, the odd shared slice of bread. But then Tom remembered something, and his voice came almost silent in the very much silent room. "You had something to tell me? Something important?"

"It doesn't matter right now, just have another slice of bread would you?" It sounded like a request, but Tom had little time to move before a wad of white was pushed into his mouth.

He just about grumbled through. "No, please don't give me an easy time. I'm already better having you here, I've barely thought about, well you know." This was a lie, but a white lie, so that was okay. In the short space of time they had been together he had thought about his small stash of heroin numerous times. But each time Sybil seemed to have subconsciously sensed his unease and used her touch to calm him. A stroke along his jaw. A caress to his foreaem. A soft kiss on his shoulder. "So come on, tell me, I want to know."

"Well alright, your shaking has definitely calmed a little."_ That's because you're with me_. Well, that's what he wanted to say, but Sybil was in medical mode right now so as far as he was concerned; it was all the bread and water that had been the slayer of his shakes. She shimmied against his side to look into his eyes. "Do you remember that house we were looking at, the one in Ballsbridge, in Dublin?"

For a moment he didn't, but then it all came back to him. A stolen Sunday morning flicking through Rightmove on his laptop. "Yes, I do. The townhouse?"

"I bought it."

To say he was taken aback would be an understatement. "I'm- I'm sorry? You bought it?"

"I did. Just last week. I was sat around thinking to myself, why aren't we moving faster? I mean, you've been making contacts, and I know that you've got a couple of your old mates all ready to go. And I just thought I needed to help. Oh actually, that reminds me, I'm going to France in a few weeks. Remember the wife of the Terreur boss? Well I'm visiting her famous brothel, and getting a personal tour of the city. She's actually an incredibly interesting woman. Honestly, her husband won't admit it of course, but she does as much for the business as he does."

When Sybil took a brief breath, Tom stopped nodding his head like an excitable dog and managed to squeeze out a few words. "Syb, the house?"

"Oh yes, so I thought, we need to get going with this. So I bought the house." Apparently for Sybil this was explanation enough. "I know it's a big decision, but why should all those be left up to the men?"

"Well, I-" He thought of the door, of his bedroom. Sybil curled her fingers around his suddenly trembling ones. "We have a house together?"

"Yes, we do." A silence followed her words, not uncomfortable, but definitely considering. Every step they took made what they were doing so much more real. So much more dangerous. "Is that okay?"

"How much was it?" Tom jumped slightly when Sybil pulled the duvet up over her head and began to giggle, the sound muffling her answer, but he managed to hear enough. "Two _million_? What a barg-"

As he sprinted for the bathroom, Tom heard Sybil padding along after him, calling his name. He would have sighed with relief when he reached the toilet if not for the flood of vomit pouring from his mouth. He winced with each retch, the bile burning the back of his throat. Many times he tried to shout, to tell Sybil he was sorry and that she should go, but she sat there, stroking his back, scolding him for running when he should have just thrown up on the floor, she would have cleared it up. He almost laughed at that, such a nurse thing to say, but then his body convulsed over the toilet again.

"Right, cumon, up you get you fool." The bathroom swirled infront of him he stumbeld to his feet, a wad of wet tissue against his lips and was led to the living room. "Now sit and drink this while I get you some more water. And- hold on- where- ah here they- eat some mints."

Surprised at his quick reaction, Tom managed to reach out and grasp Sybil's hand before she walked away. "Syb, I'm just going to the bedroom to get something okay?" Her eyes angled dangerously down at him, and for a moment he was reminded of the violent gang woman she could be. "Trust me."

o o o

Answering Mary's question felt wrong to say the least. "Yes I'm at T-Tom's. He'd been working. No of course I haven't told him about the burglary! For fucks sake do you really think we discuss LL or SS business? Look, tell Grantham I got the will copy and that I'll deliver it personally tomorrow, alright? Yeah, it went a lot- a... lot...- Mary, could I call you back?" Pressing the end call button with a clumsy thumb, Sybil set her phone down on the hallway table. "Tom, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He replied, shifting for comfort in his knelt position.

"You're ill, y-you're high, you're disorientated!" With each syllable Sybil's hands came to her mouth then back to her side again.

For Tom's part, he simply smiled, his eyes wide and apprehensive. "I'm not ill, I'm not disorientated and you know I'm not high. We had that conversation, remember, a few hours ago? So let's have a different one shall we?"

She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. "A different o-? Look Tom, now, we-we should- Come on, come drink some more water."

"Let's not."

Usually, Tom's smirk would make her melt, though she never let him know it. Now however, it made her mad. She had been keeping so strong, so held together, so cool and collected whist having to watch her lover in turmoil, and now he'd decided to get down on one knee and completely disarm her? She felt stripped back, unprepared, backed into a corner, and for a woman who had spent the last three years making her victims feel the very same; she didn't like it.

And so, storming past the man still knelt on the floor, ribboned box in hand, Sybil swiped off his hoodie and threw up the sofa duvet in an attempt to find her vestop. "I can't believe you've just done that to me!"

Steps could be heard coming up behind her, hard and loud. "What, attempted to propose? How fucking _awful_ of me!"

Swinging around, just slipping her head through her bundled top, Sybil watched as Tom threw the pale blue Tiffany box to the sofa where it bounced and fell to it's side. "You're just doing it because I'm helping you out! Because you got all messed up on drugs again and needed someone to mop up your sick! For Gods sake Tom, you're just doing it to be nice!"

The entire time Sybil had spoken she had had to restrain herself from hitting out at Tom; for he was now leant against the wall, arms crossed, smirking again, all smug. "To be nice? To- be- _nice_? Fucking hell, I'm a bloody decent bloke aren't I? Jesus, if that's what I did everytime I was being nice to someone I'd be fucking engaged to half of Britain! Sybil, my darling, you're just scared I've pounced on you, and I wouldn't bother talking to me until you own up it!"

Sybil drew a deep breath at his words and gradually drew her eyes from his. If he didn't want to talk to her, fine, she had done all she could for him tonight. So, collecting her jacket and slipping on her shoes, Sybil swept past Tom without looking at him and sped down the hall to the door. As she stomped toward her exit, she considered going on her next job for Grantham, a good old fashioned threat job, perfect for her current state of mind, but when she reached the door, quickly smacking out a hand for her phone, her anger seemed to melt away from her.

What if she _hadn't_ reacted that way? What if she had been the gushing fiancée to be, smiling and laughing as Tom asked her the big question? What if, for just this once, she didn't try to over analyse everything?

Fuck. She hated being proved wrong. "Tom?"

"Yes?"

Having almost hit the ceiling in surprise at Tom's direct presence behind her, Sybil let her jacket fall to the floor. "When did you buy it?"

"Oh this?" He held the pale blue box out in his palm. "Just before the Poker Ball. And I can assure you, I was not high, or grateful for your ahh _services_? Nope, I just thought it might be _nice_ to ask the woman I love if she'd like to marry me."

Tensing her jaw and trying not to seem the fool she felt, Sybil went for a tactic she knew was beneath her, but she needed some sort of dominance. "You're shaking Tom. Do you want to sit?"

"No." He shook his head and Sybil saw his fingers twitch a little around the box. "I'm not shaking because of _that_. Well, a little, but mostly I'm just really starting to feel the nerves now."

"You're nervous?" Her resolve was slipping, she could feel the little strings of a grin tugging at her lips.

"Well, I can hardly say this has all gone to plan can I? I tried looking _past_ the non-romantic setting, I thought since I _felt_ it was the right time, it _was_ the right time, but to have the woman I'm proposing to leg it from the room, well... Not my plan."

"I'm sorry." Her palms were sweating now, and from the way the ring box had changed hands, she knew Tom's were too.

"Doesn't matter. I can always try again." The ring swapped hands again. "Yeah?"

The light, bearable level of tension that had descended upon them suddenly became stifling. She knew Tom had been trying to keep things calm, but his last question had brought back that feeling of being cornered once again. This time though, she stopped to consider the offer. Here before her was the man she loved. A man of violence, a man of power, a man who's kind had been the enemy of her world for longer than she could remember. A man with a dark past, a man with a dark present, a man with an even darker future. A man of risk, of sacrifice, a man who was willing to go through it all, through _everything_, to have her.

She nodded her head. "Yeah."

Suddenly unaware of what to do with herself, Sybil began twiddling her hair as Tom knelt to the floor, untying the box to reveal a sparkling, rainbow emitting platinum diamond ring. She knew her eyes were bulging slightly, but by now the strings of her smile had been pulled tight and she could barely breathe. "Sybil Crawley, I don't really know how all of this is supposed to go, but I do know I love you, it fucking kills me sometimes, probably kills you too, but I can't help it, I'm in love with you. We come from completely different worlds, worlds that aren't ever going to make things easy for us, but somehow I know we'll manage, that we can fight back together. And because of that, well, will you marry me?"

Say yes, say yes, it's not hard, just one little word, why oh why was this suddenly so hard? She wanted to say yes, God she did, but it was like her voice had abandoned her. There was so much pressure, so much promise in one little word. Speak, for fucks sake, spe- "Yes, yes I'll marry you!"

"Bloody woman." Tom laughed, but the relief was written all over his face as he stood and slipped on the ring; it fit perfectly, and he obviously noticed her look of awe. "I measured your finger one night. Nightmare I can tell you. You fidgeted so much I nearly had a heart attack, and this is coming from a man who's best friend is his gun."

Sybil blushed the colour of a rose when she giggled like a school girl, but then her lips were sought by Tom's and any pretence fell away. His hands on her ribs pulled her so close she was forced to bend backward, but as she clung to his neck she felt the cool metal of her ring press against her finger and gripped a little tighter. Their kissing was little short of ferocious; a gap of a fortnight and a marriage proposal could cause feelings like that apparently, and it wasn't long before she was up against the wall, her legs wrapped around her fiancé as he pushed himself against her.

The haze of passion however was not enough to stop another bout of giggles erupting from Sybil. And as Tom's lips wandered to her throat, she gripped her legs tighter and extended her left hand over his shoulder to admire her rock, or _rocks_. "It's so beautiful Tom. How much was it? And don't try to cover it up, I'll only Google it later!"

With a final tongue stroking kiss to her neck, Tom gave his answer into her hair. "Well, Tiffany Legacy rings that evoke the glamour of the Edwardian period don't come cheap." She pulled back to look at him, her eyebrows curved, her lips also. "It's what the woman in the shop said about it, my description on the other hand would have been twenty grands worth of sparkly shit."

"_Really_? Twenty grand? Fuck me sideways!" When she started kicking her legs like a tantrum consumed child she wasn't surprised that Tom let her feet fall to the floor.

"We can try that later if you like, but for now- Syb- Do you mind if we _do_ get that water?" His eyes suddenly wouldn't meet her own; even now that _awful_ stuff was digging at him.

She grasped his hand, purposely letting her platinum band sink into his sweating skin, and tried to make her smile bigger in comfort. "Of course, of course. I'm sure we can't be the only couple to have celebrated their engagement with bread and water, right?"

"Ha, yeah, surely not." He gripped her hand a little tighter than was probably necessary and grinned like a fool before walking back along the hall.

Just as Sybil made to follow, her mind filling with thoughts of cold cloths and fat pillows, she glanced down at her new ring, her _engagement_ ring. For a moment she simply titled the diamonds back and forth to watch the twinkling blues, pinks and greens, but then she realised that she could only do so for the next few hours. After that the glistening collection of gems would be torn off and stashed away, hidden and secret. Just like her love for Tom.

With a half yawn, Sybil twisted the band of promise and followed her fiancé down the hall, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth as she did so. Tom wouldn't sleep tonight, so neither would she.

_Please Review (can't believe I'm now at **200**, do you know I love you all?!) ^^_

_Right my lovely's, Pixie is excited! And why? Well, the Highclere Awards for Downton Abbey fanfiction have now set up a website for you to nominate all your favourite Downton fics! I've already been nominating crazy, so for some of you S/B authors reading, chances are you've got a Pixie nomination! And of course, I would be incredibly ''flattered'' if I were to find me or my stories had been nominated also!_

_So to vote for all your favourite Downton fics, go to  
>www .highclereawards. com<br>and get voting!_

_www .youtube (dot com /)watch?v=B430drQGtzo - Another stunning vid by Btvs. Honestly, so spot on for this chapter!_

_Bis nächste Woche!  
>(Thanks lilabut, was feeling creative this week!)<em>


	22. Keep The Streets Empty

_Chapter Song - Keep The Streets Empty For Me by Fever Ray_

_'A lot of hope in a one man tent, there's no room for innocence'  
><em>  
><em>. . . . . . . . . .<em>

The shadowed figure stepped lithely along the foggy, darkened streets. The _wet _foggy, darkened streets; the predication that March would bring an end to the storms had not come to frution. And so the figure was forced to dodge and jump luminous puddles, shimmering and glittering in the evening light. The ruby twinkle of car lights, the glowing orange of streetlamps, the silver sparkle of the stars. Each unsure step into a glinting pool sent the colours rippling.

For a moment the figure faltered, allowing itself to be bumped and avoided by fellow walkers. These streets were unfamilar, _irratatingly _unfamiliar, definitely not what the figure was used to. The roads didn't turn the right way, the houses weren't positioned properly, the pavements all seemed destined for the land of the lost. And all this getting lost was not doing well for the shadows nerves. So, taking a deep breath, the figure rubbed its hands together, pulled its coat tight and took a moment to take in its surroundings.

The worst part of getting lost in these God damn streets, this strange, unknown territory, was that it gave the figure time to consider what it was planning. Getting cold and alone in an unknown area invited many a thought of fear, of disloyalty, of uncertainty. But each time one of these thoughts tried creeping, silent as a ghost, into the mind of the shadow, it shook its head and restarted its hunt with more cunning purpose than before. But even that couldn't stop the whispering ghosts from following, from sweeping through the air and clawing at the evasive shadow.

The figure held its face up to the cold air as it shook its head against gently invading ghosts of conscience and continued its advancement on the target. Oh well, it couldn't be helped that the streets were unknown, the shadow would just have to push on; as was taught and expected of a gang member such as itself. When the going got tough, the tough got going. Something like that anyway. The shadow almost smiled.

"Sorry." The shrouded figures voice barely came out as a whisper, and so the young couple it had nearly bumped into simply sidestepped and relinked with a clasp of hands.

The figure stopped again, this time to look back on the couple now tripping across the drenched road toward a pub on the other side of the street. The sight of lovers brought fourth a fresh wave of self-reprimanding thought. _Was this the right thing to do?_ Of course it was! How could they just sit by and let this happen? There was a gang war on for fucks sake, measures like this would be expected in such times! _Was it disloyal? _Maybe, yes, after all it _was _going behind the back of those that trusted it. But in the end, they would see that this had been for the best. After all, how could they have expected something so wrong, so _forbidden _to go without consequences such as this?

No, this was right, this was how things were _supposed _to be done. And so the shadowed figure began it's walk again, winding down those unfriendly streets, splashing through puddles, slinking along walls. And before long, the figure began to recognise certain shaking trees and sreeching road signs. Okay, this road they had seen before, and it was down this road that it's hunt should end. Because at the end of this road was were the target would be waiting, or should be anyway. After all, all trees looked the same didn't they?

Having faith in itself and its well tuned instincts, the shadow crossed the road, taking a deep breath as it did so. When it made this walk back, when it fled and made its escape, it would have left a little more innocence behind. For when it walked back, it would another murder to add to its name. The murder of one of its own.

o o o

Fifteen steps. That's all Tom Branson was able to manage toward his awaiting Bugatti before he was hauled into the back of the black Bentley continental, ambushed by a flurry of limbs. The whole commotion had happened so quickly that he hadn't even had time to shout, let alone struggle, and when his eyes became accustomed to the figures now holding blades perilously close to his face, the wave of regret that he hadn't even tried to hit him hard. Mary and Edith might have said they accepted Sybil's choice to be with him. But clearly saying and doing were completely different matters entirely.

"Going for round two are we?" Leaning just enough too look casual, but not low enough to become defenceless, Tom winked at a glaring Mary.

Mary, awkwardly twisted from her drivers seat position, rolled her eyes and her blade in unison. "Oh my darling, I think you'll find this is round one. Last time doesn't count on the grounds that I chose to let you go. There was no contest. Though if I had decided to kill you, I would have done so with much joy. Don't you dare doubt it."

Tom ran his tongue roughly along his front teeth. "I don't, cos I know I'd feel exactly the same if the gun had been turn-"

"Urgh, don't start this!" In Tom's focus of the glinting blade and just as dangerous words of Mary, he had almost fogetten Edith's presence in the car. "Where the hell is she?"

For a moment Tom didn't answer. In fact, he used what he believed to be a few seconds of thinking time to plan his escape. Knock one blade. Take the other. Force bitch to unlock door. Leg it like there's no fucking tomorrow. But then he realised that Edith had not given her question to Mary.

"I'm sorry?" He shrugged his blazor. Wind them up a little.

"Sybil, where is she?" Edith's voice caught a little at the end, as though she couldn't get the demand out quick enough, and Tom's attention was hers.

"What do you mean? Are you asking where she's been all week? Cos she said she'd told you?" But even as he spoke the words, Tom knew two high class gangsters such as Mary and Edith wouldn't have attacked him like this without good reason. But he didn't know that this was the moment his entire world was about to fall apart. He sat up straight, suddenly uncaring about whether or not he looked casual enough for capture. "What's going on?"

"Fuck!" Tom flinched as Mary plunged her blade into the soft, sleek leather seat, but couldn't explain the sick feeling he felt when she threw her arms above her head. "God I wanted you to have her so much! Then I could have fucki-"

Lurching forward in his seat, Tom smacked a hand against Mary's shoulder, causing her to spin around and face him. "What- is going- _on_?"

Wrinkling her nose at him in disgust, Mary turned back and began to drive, allowing Edith to reach for Tom's extended arm. "She's missing, Sybil, she's missing."

"I don't-" Tom shook his head and closed his eyes tight. "Look, she told you. She was coming to Ireland with me for a few days to see our new house. Then she came back two days ago, I took her to the fucking ferry for christ sake."

"But that's the thing Tom, she didn't come back. Yes she told us that plan, and we said we would cover for her. But she knew we had a meeting Tom, a big meeting with Grantham the day after she was supposed to come back, but she didn't show. I knew something was wrong, so did Mary, and we thought-" Edith faltered then, looking down at her knife and kneading it's silvery tip.

"You thought I'd done something to her?" He wanted to be mad, to scream at them both that he loved her and such a thought was so fucking ridiculous a dead man could have laughed at it, but already he felt the seams of his bodily self fraying. "But you can tell I haven't?"

_Sybil's gone? Gone?_

Swinging around a bend one handed, Mary titled her rear-view mirror. Amber met blue. "I can see your fucking SS heart beating in your throat. If you'd done something to her you'd be holding your ground, but you're not, you're just as worried as we are."

He nodded. That was enough truce for now. "So what- so what are you saying? And cut the crap, just give it to me straight."

"She's gone. And I'm guessing one of your lot has her." Mary swung the car forward with her words and both Tom and Edith flung out a hand to steady themselves. "So you can get the fuck out."

_Must find her._

It was all Glock free for all then, and Tom was certain Edith almost smiled at the repetitive action. "If you think you can just tell me my fiancée has dissapeared from the face of the earth and expect me to nod and say cheers you've got another fucking thing coming."

o o o

The alliance was unstable to say the least. Deadly, _life threatening_, was far more apt in fact. Yet it was an alliance none the same. Unspoken, but solid. For though one was the enemy, the others a sort of vicious sibling rivalry, their hearts were all beating for the same purpose; to find the one they cared about.

"Urgh, hurry the fuck up would you. We haven't got time for this, it's half nine!"

_Where is she?_

He could hear Mary sighing in disgust behind him, knew that Edith had adverted her eyes, but the feeling of pummelling every inch of the drug dealing fucker was just too good to deny. Every harsh blow, every vicious kick felt like such a wonderful way to spend the time in comparison to the hours he had spent scouring London with two women aching to plunge a blade into his gut. So he continued kicking and punching until the mans face began to darken with the deepest of bruises, his unshaven skin snaking with thin lines of lurid red. The final kick to the head finally threw the man into unconsciousness. What bliss.

"Oh there you go, now you've done it, I'm sure he'll have so much to tell us in his sleep." Mary's rolled her eyes for what felt like the thousandth time, and Tom was certain that at any moment she would have a lilac bruise flowering across her face also.

"He said he didn't know anything. You heard him. He didn't see Sybil get off the ferry, he didn't know any more!" Throwing a fierce look at the crumpled man at his feet, Tom swiped his foaming mouth with the back of his sleeve. "Let's keep moving."

_Sybil is gone. Sybil is missing._

Flying down the alley and slipping into the drivers seat of the Bentley, Tom was already revving the car into a furious frenzy when Mary and Edith fell in beside him. "I hope you weren't planning to leave us!"

"Course he wouldn't Edith, great driver he may be, but he knows I'm the best shot." Tom hated Mary. Fact. But she was right. And there was no way in hell he was going to risk losing their trust when so much, so, _so_ much was at stake.

"Where to now?"

_Who had her?_

o o o

What would you do if you found out your lover was missing? That the love of your life had been taken by someone who intended to do them serious harm? Call the family, call your friends, call the police? Good plan. But there was nothing for Tom to do but to continue what was becoming the most torturous hunt of his life. What could he say to his family? Sybil, you know, my girlfriend, has most likely been taken by my fellow _gang_ members? To his friends? Oh, has any of you by any chance attacked the woman I've been having a secret affair with? To the police? Please help, the gang I work for has kinapped the woman I love, who also happens to defy the law every day of her life? No option. Nothing. He was alone. And slowly dying.

_Where could she be?_

Tapping his knuckles in what was supposed to be a steady rhythm against the Bentley's glass, Tom was on the verge of whipping out his Glock and taking shot after shot against the window when the passanger door was heaved open and Mary all but fell inside.

"Well?"

_Who had taken her?_

"Nothing, I tried everything, flirting, questioning, holding a fucking gun to his head. It seems this captain was more than willing to go down with his ship." Mary flung a chunck of deadly metal onto the dash as Tom gave a harsh growl and ran the Bentley down a gradually darkening street of London.

Reaching into his pocket, Tom flipped out his phone and tried ringing Sybil again. He hadn't had her number for long. Seemed a little crazy that they had managed to go for so long without it, but it had always been safer not to, and they were both gifted with the skills of search and surveillance. But that night, the night Tom had proposed, they had been laid in bed together, Sybil having removed all matter of his addiction from the room, and had taken his phone. Without saying a word she had punched her number against the screen. He had watched with a small smile as she changed her contact name from _S_ to _Fiancée _to _M'lady _to _Sybil_.

The hum of the dial tone was fast becoming a pet hate of Tom's, and when it rang of and the fucking awful voice recording of a woman asking you to press this and that began to play, he threw the phone between his legs. So far the count stood at 22 calls, 16 messages, 8 voice mails.

To drown out the sound of Mary and Edith once again discussing various ideas as to who may know something about Sybil's disappearance, Tom flicked on the radio.

_'It's the late show on Kiss Fm, playing you the very best in house music. It's eleven o clock and we're kicking off with-'_

"Jesus. Eleven o clock?" Tom felt Edith's scream like a shiver down his spine as he took a roundabout at far too many miles an hour. "Where the fuck is she?"

Lights were blurring. People were cursing. Buildings were flying past them.

"Tom stop! _Stop_! Stop you fucking SS bastard." But all Mary's words did was to ignite the exact opposite of what she wanted.

"Fucking SS bastard am I? I'm her fiancé. We're supposed to be getting married. But who-" Tom's stomach left him as he flew up a kerb. "-the fuck-" The seat belt tore roughly at his pulse throbbing neck. "-actually believes-" The Bentley's tyres screeched like a bat against the long stretch of road. "- that that's even possible?"

The car gave an almighty shriek as Mary hooked a hand around the steering wheel and Tom resisted by tightening his grip. The sound cut into the night like a shard of glass through human flesh, the Bentley's tyres ripping up the road. The fast motion of the spinning, wailing car eventually threw Tom and Mary into disorientation and both gave up their struggle to take control of the car. Before long the Bentley skidded to a halt, lurching slightly as it pounded to a sudden stop.

_Sybil, Sybil, Sybil._

"Jesus." It seemed Edith had snapped as she stumbled from the car and crouched over on the side of the road.

Tom and Mary however remained side by side, neither wanting to admit defeat to the other. So instead, they sat panting, desperately trying to reign in their heart rates and fluttering pulses. Soon enough, Mary struggled through her aching stitch and turned to the jaw clenched Tom. "Now I know how you're feeling, because I feel the same. I hate your side for doing this, and I swear to God I will kill whoever has taken her. But not just because of LL SS hate, but because Sybil was never one of us, not really, there was always something off about her. And for that I know she isn't capable of surviving in this world. I have to help her."

_Gone, missing, taken._

"And you expect me to believe that?" Tom was dying, he could feel it. Could feel the blood in his veins ripping at him from the inside out, could taste the burning fury on his tongue. "You think I'm about to believe deep down you're a decent person?"

"Believe what you like. But we both know we need each other if we're going to get her back." And with that Mary pulled a small, black baton from within her boot and smashed open the car window. The sharp sprinkle of the glass waterfall gushed both in and outside of the car. "Edith, get back in the car. We're not done yet."

o o o

Chime one. Tom pressed his face against the rough stone wall. Chime two. He ground his nose into the grit. Chime three. He felt his skin graze and burn. Three a.m. The streets were quieter now. Almost subdued, asleep even, in the late night darkness. Still alive though, still buzzing with an unseen presence, but definitely quieter. Any people wandering around were either hoping to remain unnoticed, or were slowly staggering home to a pissed off wife or sulking girlfriend. Some might be going home to a fiancée. Tom closed his eyes and pressed his nose even harder against the crumbling wall.

He just couldn't sit in that God damn car any more. What he would normally view as a beast to be tamed was now a prison, the leather seats, smashed window and metal frame a cage of his pain. And so he had left Mary, had let Edith make the break in alone. If there was any security tape to be found she had assured him she would find it. So, with nothing to do but wait, he had leapt out of the car, hands in pockets, head down to the ground, and strolled blindly down the mysterious streets of London.

_What had happened?_

He had walked and walked until he quite literally could not walk any more, and had let his knees give way beneath him as he found solace leant against the old pub wall. God, what he wouldn't do for a drink right now. A few drinks. A good few pints of Guinness. Sybil would have smiled at that, just had she had that one afternoon she had told him his fridge was free of the Irish black beer, and he had literally run to the nearest Tesco in just his jeans. He hadn't meant it really, had just wanted to make her laugh. Would he ever make her laugh again?

"Fuck!" His curse fell flat into the silence of the night.

He had tried, really tried, to stop thinking of the most morbid outcome of this whole affair. That his beautiful, feisty Sybil may not return to him ever again. But in a world when violence was part of routine, when murder was a weekly event, he knew that his worries were far more founded than his hope that she was safe. And for a few times in this long, drawn out night, he had contemplated just what he would do if he found she had come to harm, to an end. At first he had thought he would want revenge, that he would want to tear the perpetrator limb from limb. But then he realised that to do such a thing he would have to be consumed with the utmost rage, and he knew, that should he find Sybil had been taken from him, he would probably die too.

"Care for some company?"

The sound of the gravelly female voice almost knocked Tom backward in shock, but he managed to stay grounded and turned to the woman. "No thanks love."

The prostitute eyed him up and down, as though surprised a man alone out late would turn down such an offer. She took a step closer. "You're certain?"

He knew he should feel angry, irritated beyond belief that he wasn't being allowed one brief moment to himself to start what he could only call grief for Sybil. But the sight of the young girl, probably his fiancées age, shivering in her tight skirt and flimsy vest top tugged on his heart. Where was the fucking good in the world? He snorted, where was the _good_? He had walked away from the good a long time ago. "Take this, yeah all of it, get yourself home, to your family that is, not your fucking pimp, go on, get going."

The girl didn't wait for a second opinion and practically sprinted away from him, her small, gnarled fist full of rainbow notes. He knew she was probably off to a dealer now, but maybe if he believed she really was going home, he could believe Sybil might do the same.

The sound of a car tore him from his reverie. It took him one quick glance at Edith to know that they were no closer to finding Sybil now as they had been all night.

o o o

Flicking his phone over in his hand, Tom felt a surge of sickness drown him as the screen lit and practically shouted 6.35am at him. In just a few hours from now, Sybil would have been missing for three days. Trying not to face such a grim reality, Tom flung his phone over his shoulder and into the back of the Bentley. But even then the world around him seemed insistent on reminding him just how time seemed to be flying. The sky was flecked pink and lilac, the slight shimmers of the morning sun casting a pale glow over the city of London. All around them people were appearing from the underground or disappearing into its depths. The day had begun, the night was over, and Tom couldn't care less if he never saw another sunrise again. Sunrise...

_"Tom?"_

_"Mmm?"_

_"Tom look."_

_Silently cursing Sybil for stirring him from such a deep contented sleep, Tom opened his eyes a little, only to be blinded by the brightest of yellow. "Fucking hell!"_

_"Tom!" He felt a dig in the ribs as he tugged the duvet up to cover his eyes. "Stop being such a girl and look!"_

_Reluctantly he edged out from beneath the blanket of shadows and began blinking furiously to block out the light. "What?"_

_"Look at that sunrise." He'd seen a thousand of those before, but the slight, breathy catch in Sybil's voice made this one sound like a phenomenon. _

_Sitting up properly, Tom finally gazed out of the window, and was met with one of the most stunning views he had ever seen. "Wow, you're right, that's something."_

_"Won't be too bad a view to wake up to from now on will it?" She smiled, slowly twining her soft limbs about his chest._

_In response he pulled her hot, fair body closer, turning a little so that he could look into her eyes. "Not a bad view at all."_

_They kissed then, gently, with deliberate affection, before Sybil pulled away to shuffle slightly. "Worth the two million?"_

_Already Tom was craving her touch again, could feel his body beginning to ache for her. "So worth it."_

_Dragging her beneath him, Tom began to run his lips and teeth ever so delicately across her collar bone, making sure to whisper a few 'so beautiful's' as he went. But once again, a movement of Sybil's stopped him in his tracks. "Oh my Tom, look at that."_

_He shook his head against her neck. "Nope. Don't wanna."_

_"Tom!"_

_"Urgh, you know, you can be such a prick tease." He sighed, rolling back over onto his back. "Come on then, what do you want to show me?"_

_"Look how sparkly my ring goes in the sun." She said, admiring her engagement ring with a wiggle of her finger._

_He was about to retort something along the lines of 'You wanted to show me how sparkly your fucking ring looks?' but the sight of her laid next to him, skin glowing in the golden light, dark hair splayed from a night of lovemaking and deep slumber, eyes bright and lip bitten in admiration, he simply reached out to wrap his fingers around her own. "Would you look at that."_

It was the smack to the head that finally did it. "Tom! Your phone just rang, it said Sybil!"

In one swift movement Tom tugged the phone from Edith's grasp, stroking his thumb over the screen in a few practised sweeps as his blood started pumping a mile a minute. The soft hum of the dial tone against his ear felt like the worst form of torture.

Was she okay?

A crackle. "Sybil? Sy-?"

"Oh Tom, thank God, I-"

"Sybil!" As every fibre of his body burst with the sweet nectar of relief, Tom attempted to exit the car, but Mary was quicker and locked the doors; he had not been alone in the hunt, and would not be alone in the find either. "Where are you darling? Tell me! Are you alright? Are you hurt? Who did this?"

It was then he realised she was sobbing. "No one- I did this- Oh Tom, please- I need you."

"Okay, okay calm down. Where are you? We're north of London at the moment but just tell me where you are and I'll be there." His voice felt tight, clogged with emotion.

He could practically feel her shaking down the phone. "I'm not there Tom- Oh God I'm so sorry, I should never have-"

Aware of Mary's hand flinching to grasp the phone, Tom tightened his grip and made his voice louder. "There's nothing to be sorry for, we'll deal with the bastard after. Did they find out about us? Or was it just one of my lot making trouble for Lords and Ladies? Sybil, are you there?"

A staggered gasp. "Yes Tom, I'm here, but please listen. I'm not, I'm not in England, I'm in Ireland. I need you please."

So many questions but so little time. "Ireland? I- Okay, are you safe? Just tell me you're safe."

"Y-yes I-"

It seemed Edith could hold on no longer. "Find out who did this Tom!"

"Darling, listen to me, I'm coming to Ireland right now I promise you, but please, who did this?" He may be going to Ireland, but Edith and Mary were not, and so he knew justice could be carried out in his absence.

"Me Tom, I did this-I Tom I-"

As Sybil began to explain, sobbing and crying, barely able to catch her breath, Tom felt any form of happiness or relief slowly, painfully, let from his body. When she finally said the word he had been dreading, he knew he couldn't take any more. He wasn't sure about whether he had dropped the phone, if he had put it down, or if someone had taken it from him. But he didn't care, not one bit. Insane really, how he had ached to hear Sybil's voice for so long and suddenly it was the last thing on earth he wanted to listen to.

He tried to open the car door again. "Mary, let me out now, or I will kill you."

Mary barely flinched, simply looked at him with an emotion he could not name. "Did you know Tom?"

And just like that, he felt the weight of the world crush down on his shoulders. "No I-" His lips felt numb, unable to form the simplest of words. "I didn't know she was pregnant. She didn't-"

"So you didn't know she was going to-" Mary faltered, and Tom had to look away as she looked over at Edith. For three people who hated one another, tonight had certainly broken down a few barriers. "You didn't know what she was going to do?"

He shook his head. He felt tears pricking the edges of his glazed eyes. He tried to suppress it, tried to pretend he hadn't heard, but all he could see, swimming around in his head like the deadliest of poisons was that last word.

Abortion.

_Please Review ^^_

_So guys, don't kill me. I'm sorry, but please, please don't kill me!_

_On a brighter note, guess where I am as you all read this?! Highclere! Wooooop! Indeed, today I am visiting the wonderful 'Downton Abbey'. Eeeek, if I'm not already excited enough for the next series I think this will tip me over the edge!_  
><em>Oh another this, I have tumblr now. MissPixieWay. Though don't expect anything impressive, it's a slow learning process for me!<em>

_Next Monday!_


	23. Snuff

_Chapter Song - Snuff by Slipknot_

_'I couldn't face a life without your light, but all of that was ripped apart, when you refused to fight'_

_. . . . . . . . . ._

Just a few hours ago Tom Branson had been sure of _everything_. He had been sure of that time was not on his side, he had been sure his fiancée was missing, he had been sure he was doing everything possible to find her. Now he had no clue what time of day it was, didn't know if his fiancée had really been missing or running, had no idea if he now wanted to ever see her again her not. No certainty, none what so ever. And that wasn't all. Now he didn't know if he trusted Sybil, if she loved him like she said she did, if they could ever be together again. Had no idea how he felt about their future, had no clue if he wanted _any_ sort of future to be honest, let alone a future with her. Hours, just hours, and he was sure of nothing.

He wasn't even sure what he was going to say or do once he finished his walk up their gravel drive, the crunchy, lumbered trek it was, but before long he was forced to decide. Palms balmed in sweat, though his body felt shivery, his skin hot, his insides icy, Tom fumbled for his key and entered the house. It was quiet inside, deadly quiet, and dark. All the curtains were pulled shut, though eerily glowing like church windows in the beam of the slowly setting sun. Little luminous squares dotted the darkness; some lime greens, some fuchsia pinks, some misty blues. But a thin stream of light seemed to be melting like molten gold from the landing above, and so Tom was offered an answer.

Dropping his keys and coat God knows where, not bothering to turn on any lights, he slowly but surely began his assent up the stairs. Each laboured, creaking step seemed loaded with emotion. Step. Anger. Step. Despair. Step. Hurt. Step. Shock. So by the time he reached the top of the stairs, he needed a moment to compose himself before he could walk forward.

Her words invaded his warped mind for the hundredth time. _'Oh Tom, I'm so sorry. I'm in Ireland because I found out I was pregnant, I panicked, I was scared, I didn't know what to do so I just convinced myself that the best thing was to get rid of it. So I went to the doctor about an abortion-'_

Closing his eyes and taking a breath, Tom felt his heart tighten when he heard the sound of water droplets trickling into a full bath coming from the golden room. Sybil was in there, right there, a mere ten feet away from him, amidst the glugging tap and humming lightbulb. And the thought made him feel sick. For the woman in there had been pregnant the last time they had been together, had been carrying his child, _their_ child, and she had thrown it all away. And he was_ in love_ with her?

Knowing that confronting such a question would almost certainly tip him off an already perilously close edge, Tom allowed his face to crease up in one second of gut wrenching agony before composing himself and entering the bathroom.

When he set foot into the pristine, white tiled room, Sybil was just emerging from beneath the clear, foamless bath water. And for a moment he forgot everything. She was so beautiful, so _painfully_ beautiful. Her dark hair pooling into the water, her great blue eyes blinking away sparkling droplets, her full lips pressing together to block out the falling trickle. Her body was perfect, gorgeous as he always told her. With her flawless pale skin, her even paler breasts, the patch of dark hair between her long, graceful legs. _So_ beautiful.

His breath caught as he lowered himself onto the toilet seat and she noticed his presence, flickering her lashes a little in the piercing light. Her eyes locked on his, she pulled her knees up to her chest, using her arms to hold them close. She looked like an angel in that moment, surrounded by the swirling water, shimmering in the light, flecks of gold and silver dancing around her.

"I didn't think you would come." Her voice came high, raspy and heavy with relief.

For a moment he couldn't speak. He simply pressed his prayer stance hands to his lips, elbows on his knees, and looked at her. How could anyone who had done what she had done look so healthy, so radiant, so perfect? "I didn't think I would either."

She nodded and her lips pressed even harder together. This time her voice was barely a whisper. "Are you okay Tom?"

His humourless laugh came as a puff of air through his nose. "What do you think?"

The following silence was agony. What did she think? What did _he_ even think? His mind was in a million places. A million dark, empty, hollow places. "Do you still love me?"

What a _question_. What a fucking question. He closed his eyes and heard another trickle of water as Sybil shuffled slighty. "You know I do. I'm too in love with you to even breathe sometimes."

A louder splash came now and Tom opened his eyes to find Sybil running her hands through her gradually roping hair. "But do you still want to be with me?"

This one he knew the answer to, though the answer itself was still pending interpretation. "I don't know, I _honestly_ don't know."

He almost felt a sick satisfaction when she began to silently cry, her guilty tears somehow distinguishable among the innocent twinkle of bath water. "I understand. But please, if- if there's a chance that this is it, that we're over, let me explain. You deserve to know why I did what I did."

Nodding against his clasped hands, he murmured against his calloused skin. "That's all I want right now."

The sudden vigorousness in her return nod told him that she believed in explaining to him what had happened, she would give herself the virtue of honesty, that perhaps giving her side of the story could bring him back. But Tom knew that whatever she had to say now would never be enough to bring back his trust, nor his faith in their life together.

"You should know that I haven't known for long, I promise you that Tom. In fact, it was here that I found out, in Ireland, in- well- where you're sat right now actually." He already wanted her stop talking, but couldn't find the strength to speak. "After our first night here, well the next morning, you know, when we'd forgotten to close the curtains and all the light got in, do you remember?" _'Look how sparkly my ring goes in the sun.' _She could keep the ring. "Well after you went out to meet your friends I realised that I hadn't, you know, I hadn't come o- I hadn't had my- Well I realised I should have been on my period, and that I hadn't had one now for two months." Tom's body tremored slightly. Two _months_? "And I- I knew Tom, I just knew. My pill, well, I hadn't been taking it properly at the t-time. So much had been going on, I'd been stressed that Mary knew about us and I thought you'd died... So I just knew. I went out, got a test-" Her voice hitched an octave. "-it was positive and before I knew it I was in the doctors getting it confirmed. When I-"

"Why didn't you tell me then? _Why_ Sybil? Please, just tell me that." He spoke his words to his knees, the heel of his hands kneading his tired eyes, the pressure offering a momentary release.

"I told you, I panicked, I-I wasn't ready for anything like that! All I could think was how much danger we were already in, how difficult our future was about to become. And I thought of the state of London right now. Lords and Ladies and Satan's killing each other every other week, and what, I could survive something like that _pregnant_? Telling you would have made everything so much more real, and I just- If I could erase the problem it would never have had to have existed to you." Never have existed, their _baby_. "So I knew what I had to do. I found out where the nearest termination information centre was and booked an appointment with the doctor again for a few days time. You know, to discuss going back to England for the ab- abortion, cos you can't here. Then when you took me to the ferry- I wanted to tell you-"

"We'd been together, we'd made lo- We'd had sex and..." The words fell from his lips without much premeditated thought; but it had just occurred to him, that during the few days they had spent together in their new home, during every moment they had fallen into bed, during each stroke of his hand on her skin, they had not been two but _three_. His voice shook. "We- we spent every second together, we had eachother so many times, you kept telling me you loved me, and the whole time I'm kissing you and touching you, you're- you're carrying our baby?"

"Oh Tom, oh Tom please." She was sobbing now, _hard_. Great rattling breaths, fluttering fingers, fat rolling tears. "I never meant to betray you, I swear. But look, we- we can get through this can't we? Can't we?"

The surge of water as Sybil stepped out the bath was the loudest yet, her rising body allowing streams and drips to create a roar of patters as they fell back into the ripples. And for a moment Tom was caught in her net of beauty once again, glistening white skin, twisting dark hair, delicately treading feet. But it didn't last for long. Because suddenly his mind was tricking him, torturously. He could see her stomach bulging, her breasts growing, her little fingers swelling. And then he appeared, a smoky mirage, a smiling figure. Kissing her belly, holding her hand as she cried, cradling their wailing creation in his arms.

The touch of her damp, crinkled hand to his face took any desired vision away and replaced it with a screen of red, the sight of her LL mark registering only one word in his head; _enemy_. Then before he could think, before he could consider his actions, he had Sybil against the bathroom wall, one of his hands pinning the two of hers behind her, his legs forcing hers to the tiles. The fluffy blue towel she had managed to slink around her had slipped away, now also held against the wall by his fist and her spine. He could feel his body shaking in rage, hers trembling with fear.

Pressing his forhead to hers, harder when she tried to turn away, he used his free hand to cup her jaw. That was when she seemed to find her voice. "T-Tom let me g-go-!"

He could barely pant his reply, tightening his grip on her quivering wrists. "How could you ki-?"

"Tom please, think of the baby, you'll hurt the baby!"

o o o

Taking in so much air that she almost felt a little light headed when she let it out, Sybil scrambled for her towel when Tom fell away from her, stumbling backward as though knocked over the head. For a moment she thought of running past him, he had _never_ treated her like that, never, but something about that knowledge made her stay. She had to fix this, this wasn't Tom, this wasn't the man that worshipped the ground she walked on. This was a Servant.

"What baby? What are you talking about? _Baby_?" He spoke from the floor, where he seemed to have fallen, ice blue eyes flashing up at her between his fingers.

"Baby? Tom I- Our baby, _ours_." For a brief moment Sybil thought Tom had lost his mind. The violence, the collapse, _that_ question. But looking into his eyes, deep into his eyes, all she saw was a pained confusion. Surely not? Surely he must have...? Her heart felt plucked with a needle of hope. "Didn't you-? Tom, haven't you looked at your phone?"

"My phone? What does my-? Sybil, please, _what_ baby?" The croak in the back of his throat told Sybil that Tom was chocking back tears, and so, tucking the blue towel beneath her arm, she too fell to the floor and crawled toward his huddle mass.

Kneeling before him, the cold tiles biting into each patch of skin placed upon them, Sybil tentatively rubbed his jeans, feeling the quaking bone beneath them. "Tom, look at me. Yes, that's it. Now listen, and listen carefully. I did not, _not_, have the abortion. I'm still pregnant, right now, with your child, do you understand? I didn't go to England in the end, I didn't get the ferry. So if you think I actually _had_ the termination and ran back here, you're wrong! I stayed because I was going to see the doctor about options, I never left. You didn't let me finish on the phone, so I left messages, I left voicemai-"

Sybil flinched when Tom lept to his feet, expecting another outlet of rage, so was surprised when he sprinted from the room, his steps like thunder in the quiet house. She recovered quickly though, and as fast as her returning senses would allow, she rose from the floor and made after him. Just as she fell out onto the dark landing, she saw Tom practically leap over the balcony and down the stairs. For half a step Sybil was in pursuit once again, but then she considered that Tom could be fleeing the building, and she was wearing nothing but a towel. So, turning about, gripping onto the door frame and swinging into the bathroom, she tore on her earlier discarded Gilly Hicks yoga pants and t-shirt. For a moment her fingers brushed her stomach, then the very same fingers wiped away her tears.

She found Tom far sooner than expected. Infact, she almost fell over him. He was sat on their front step, hunched over and shuddering. At first she thought he had finally to succumbed to the tears she had failed to hold back, but as she approached, with caution, she saw that his arms were moving due to flicking through his phone. And so she waited, clinging to the bannister, her mind wanting to analyse all that had just happened but too clouded with emotional agony to be able to. Then, when Tom finally withdrew the phone from his ear for the final time, tossing it forward onto the grass, Sybil approached him.

"You haven't said why." Good. He was talking. This was good.

"Why what?" She inwardly cursed herself for sounding so feeble, but this was not a situation the villainous Sybil Crawley had ever found herself in before.

His reply came angry, impatient, accent thick. " You said you hadn't done it, but you haven't said why."

Sybil knew that sitting next to Tom would only gain a dreaded, cold reaction. And so she stepped past him onto the path to their house, arms crossed, hair fluttering in the breeze, and turned to him. "There are two reasons. One led to the other really."

Smacking both hands hard on his knees,Tom peered up at her with a look she felt new tears form for. By now her cheeks were so red raw they stung. "Don't mind game me, just tell me straight."

"Okay, okay!" She spun and caught sight of their neighbour in the distance, peering out her window with a twitch of the curtains. What a scene this must make. Tom all but collapsed on the front step. Her holding herself and sobbing on the grass. The two of them shouting, crying, the classic domestic. But she couldn't see, what no one could see but the very people involved, were the two hearts breaking before her. "The first reason, well, I'm ten weeks preg-" Pregnant, small word, easy enough, right? "Ten weeks gone. And you can only take the abortion pill at nine weeks or before, so that would have meant a- a- well a surgica- Oh Tom, please don't make me go through this."

"Tell- me- _why_." The knowledge that she had lost a part of Tom was growing fast on Sybil like ivy on the bark of a tree; suffocating and all consuming.

Her skin prickled in the lilac, dewy air. "I couldn't do surgery Tom, I couldn't go under and have my- the baby taken that way. I don't- I couldn't- Not without telling-"

She wasn't sure why her legs gave way at that moment, but all at once her palms where softening her collapse onto the wet, muggy grass, her limbs splaying out onto the drizzly green. And she definitely wasn't sure how Tom came to be at her side, not touching her, but close enough that he could if he wanted. Though something told her didn't. "Go on."

Her shell pink nails scraped into the dirt. "The second reason... On my way to the doctor, I kept questioning my loyalty to you, I kept debating if I was doing the right thing, tried convincing myself that what I was doing was for the best. I couldn't help feeling that when I came away with the appointment, I would practically be killing ag-again. But then, when the nurse told me it was too late for pills, it- it felt like such a relief. Like a sign or something, you know?" She bit her lip when he didn't reply. "Knowing that my option of keeping it all a secret had been taken away, well, it felt like the answer, like something was telling me that I had to talk to you, that I was choosing the wrong path. I was literally walking away from the doctors when I phoned you, I just needed you _so_ badly."

And she had, so, so, so badly. Because the moment she had stepped out of the doctors office, from the sterile white waiting room to the grey streets of Dublin, it had finally hit her that she was infact, pregnant. Previous to that moment she had seen her dire circumstance as a obstacle, a careless result of something forbidden, another job she needed to work on, a task to complete. And so that was what it had become, getting rid of the baby, a Lords and Ladies job. She had made the plan, carried out the deciet, almost finished with neatly knotted ends, but... Nope, it wasn't finished, it was still happening, she was pregnant, pregnant. A twenty two year old pregnant gang member. Pregnant. And scared, and lost, and a little broken.

The sky was tinged with a dash of lemon now, and Sybil echoed Tom's eyes as they followed the glowing streak. "Ten weeks huh?"

"Yes, about that." Without considering she let her hand reach out to play with the bottom of Tom's jeans. They were damp from the grass and her fingers were still wet from the fall. A little match. "I- I think, I think it might have been Chirstmas Day. Well, the night obviously, but definitely Christmas, when we stayed with your family."

Sybil tried to smile when Tom let out a faint laugh, but it was hollow and cold and her lips could not attempt any sort of movement in reaction. "That was the night you told me it wasn't going to happen, you said we couldn't make love that night. But we did."

No words came to mind, especially since the man she had thought she had figured out was suddenly a complete mystery to her. She had no idea of what he was thinking, where he was going with this thought, and so she simply nodded and held his jeans tighter. Any way to keep him close. "Mmhm."

"So, was that some sot of sign then too? You didn't want to so we shouldn't have done? Then we did and we..." He trailed off, his face in his hands once again.

Still clinging to his jeans in too strong, too desperate a grip, Sybil finished for him. "We made a baby."

It was only because his jolt of movement caused a tug on the denim in her hands that Sybil realised Tom was shifting. He was edging closer. She could barely breathe. And she certainly stopped breathing altogether when he reached out, his hand a little muddy, patched with damp grass, and placed it on her stomach. She felt the weight of it press hard against her belly bar, and was not prepared for when Tom's fingers delved beneath her t-shirt and splayed out on her cold skin. How was it that a man's hands were always so warm?

"Oh Sybil." He wasn't looking at her, but at his hand, cupping their baby. "Are you really pregnant?"

For the first time, hearing the slight edge of disbelief in his voice, Sybil allowed herself to delve into the disbelief of her own. She didn't know a thing about babies, about pregnancy. What was Tom holding, right now, beneath her skin? A little raison looking thing? Something bigger, more defined? She hadn't thought of her brother for a while, but now she did, now she let the memory seep in a little. After all, things couldn't get any worse. Her recollection told her that her mother had been four months gone when she lost him, and that the ordeal had proved it was in fact, a _him_. So maybe her ba- _the_ baby, that Tom now cradled, the two month old, wasn't anything much yet, just a little squiggle?

More than anything she wanted to place her hand on his, to run her fingertips over his creased knuckles, but gang instincts told her danger, danger, _danger_. "I am, yes." And I want you to look at me, to tell me we're okay, that you're going to help me.

His fingers contracted, but gently, his nails just ghosting the downy, blonde hair of her stomach. "Kinda amazing isn't it?"

That did it. All at once tears began to flow from her eyes like the trickle of a stream. Was he angry? Happy? What were they going to do? Was this it? No, this couldn't be it! But if it was? How would she go back to London without him? How could they go back to being enemies? Lover, fiancé, father-to-be, enemy? Would she have to go through with the abortion? She wasn't ready for a baby! Or was she? With or without him though? Oh God, Lords and Ladies! How could she tell them? Would they ask questions? Grantham would throw her out, for sure. What use was a pregnant member? Why did everything feel like it was ending? Like this was _the_ end?

"T-Tom- What are we going t-? Are we even-?" The taste of salt lay on her lips.

And then on Tom's when he kissed her. It was like breathing, so easy, so natural, so _necessary_. Still retaining her grip on his jeans, winding her other arm around his neck, Sybil fell to the grass, sighing into him as his full weight lay over her. With one arm, that pressed into her damp hair, he held his weight, the other still tentatively tracing her stomach as she wound her legs around him, moving her head slowly into the kiss. His warmth, and strength, and pure, unexpected passion almost had her crying tears of a different kind. This was all she wanted right now, him, Tom, to love her, to take care of her, to sort out this mess. She hoped the neighbour was still watching. That she could see two people in love kissing on the grass. That it looked as though they were lost, completely at mercy to happiness. That she would walk away bitter, wishing that she was the one Tom was now going to make love to. Because if it looked that way, then maybe it _was_ that way. Maybe Tom was okay now, maybe he wasn't mad, maybe all was fine now that their baby was.

But no, he _wasn't_, he _was_ and all was most certainly _not_ fine. For when he pulled out of their kiss, Sybil was met with a look of pure torture. "I needed that, just needed to feel what it would have been like to be happy about this. I needed to know what it would have been like if you told me you were having our baby, and _hadn't_ tried to kill it."

Still clinging to Tom's clothing, Sybil stumbled slightly when he jumped to his feet, dragging her to her knees and making off down the garden path. "Tom, no, please! We have to talk about this, we have to decide what we're going to do!"

He spun around, just as breathless as she was. "Oh _what_? Fuck Syb, I thought you were avoiding me? I thought you wanted to do this one on your own!"

"Of course not!" Having caught up to him she pulled at his shoulder, forcing him around.

"I see it in your eyes, you still don't what you want, if you even want it!" He flicked his wrist at her as though tossing something away. It may as well be everything between them. "You haven't come up with an answer yet, have you?"

"Not yet, I'm afraid. You're right, I haven't a fucking clue." Setting her jaw and allowing her final tears to sneak down her damp cheeks, Sybil took a slow step toward Tom. "But I know you want to play your part in this, and I respect that, so don't make out that you're willing to walk away!

"What? Like you were?" He took a step closer too, and Sybil felt a chill to her bones that she actually felt threatened. "You're a killer Syb, to the fucking core, we both know it. If you can kill a man in cold blood what's going to stop you going back and having rid of something that doesn't even exist yet!"

Three years Sybil had been involved in the gang world. Three years she had been familiar to all sorts of language. She had had threats screamed at her _'You'll pay for this'_ , had been subject to every name under the sun _'Whore, bitch, slut'_, had been cursed over and over 'H_ell is waiting for you_'. But never, in all those years, had she felt such pain inside as she did for those Tom had just spoken. Her entire body had gone into shut down. Something like shock really, to let her get through the worst. "I just- I just can't think about it all until the war is over, until the LL's and Satan's cool off, until me and you sort out our plans again. Then we can decide where to go from here."

From the look on Tom's face, he may as well have swallowed poison and brought it back up. He looked disgusted with himself. But she was too numb, too dumbstruck to care. "Sybil, darling, I never- I should never have sai-"

And so she continued. "It won't be long now. So, will you wait?"

"I'd wait forever." His voice was so sincere that it almost cracked the pained veneer of Sybil's heart. Almost.

"I'm not asking for forever. Just a few more weeks." The wind picked up a little, carrying a few stray hair into her face. "Then we can decide, if we want the baby or- or not, alright?"

"Alright, alright." And then he fell silent. They both did.

The mint green ferns lining the path blew lazily in the breeze, the sky overhead sparked gold in the falling sun, and in such a serene backdrop, Sybil felt another tug at her heart. Her and Tom had gone through, were still going through, so much. They had faced every problem that had come their way. Denial, secrets, decisions. But all of these problems had come from what they were, members of enemy gangs, never from _who_ they were, a man and woman in love. Oh how things had changed. Now they had problems, _really_ had problems, and no threat of death could compare to the pain Sybil felt at such a realisation.

Holding out blue, ice cold fingers, Sybil gave a sad smile when Tom practically jolted forward and wrapped his fingers around her own. "Me and you, we're in trouble, aren't we Tom?"

"Yeah, darling, we are."

The sun set, all gold and light gone, all black and red remaining.

_Please Review ^^_

_Anyone see that coming? Anyone? Aha not sure if I wanted you to expect it or not actually!  
>Now, on another note, I think we all know KYEC will be coming to an end soon, and I would really love to hear more thoughts from you guys! Don't get me wrong, I know you're out there, but I would really appreciate a few more reviews or PMs here and there, just to keep me motivated.<em>

_Oh Monday... Monday, Monday, Monday..._


	24. Everytime We Touch

_Chapter Song - Everytime We Touch (slow version) by Cascada_

_'The good and the bad times, we've been through them all. You make me rise when I fall.'_

. . . . . . . . . . .

_Sybil stirred beneath the duvet, blinking face-crunchingly slow in the blaring morning sunlight. For a moment she considered that maybe the view wasn't worth the early morning sting, but then the lush green fields, and mellow, watery grey horizon rose infront of her and her mind was changed. Even so, snuggling a little further down the duvet was her next plan of action._

_She tried to fall asleep again, to surrender to the warmth encompassing her and the luxurious feeling of the blankets on her naked skin, but a little tickle, the sort of feeling felt by the kiss of a feather, was riddling her left hand finger. For a brief while, Sybil bit her lip in wonder at what the feeling could be, but when the thick duvet was slightly moved to expose her hand, she could barely contain her smile. With still squinting eyes, she watched as ring after imaginery ring was slipped onto her finger, ghosting over the glinting gold one that already wrapped around her skin._

_Scrunching up her hand slightly, letting her nails scratch along the sheets, Sybil sighed. "What are you doing?"_

_The first answer came in the form of a sting of kisses down the back of her neck, the second an actual explanation. "I'm just reliving the moment I married you. Over-" Another ring of air. "-and over-" Another little tickle. "-and over."_

_Wiggling her ring fingers playfully, Sybil squirmed back against her husbands body. "What if I don't say I do on one repeat? Huh? What happens then?"_

_Practically squwarking out Tom's name, Sybil found herself pulled over onto her back, her view a pair of flashing ice blue eyes, hovering above her. "I'd say it's a little too late, wouldn't you?"_

_Making a low hum in the back of her throat, Sybil shifted beneaths Tom's overbearing, hard body, just to him know that yes, she wanted him pretty badly right now too. "You're probably right. Oh, speaking of which, did your virgin bride please you?"_

_Good God that look. That smug grin, those challenging eyes. She felt her hands drawn up next to her head, her fingers twining around his own. "Funnily enough, I have a feeling my wife might not have been entirely honest with me about that certain matter."_

_"Oh?" She punctuated her questioning, sarcastic sigh by wrapping her arms and legs around Tom's waist and neck._

_That was it then. Tom's mouth was on hers before she could blink. And she was kissing him back with so much want, need, that she could barely breathe. The room was filled with the sound of dragging sheets, of short breath and whispered words. But when Sybil began giggling, the moment of intensity shattered like a bullet through glass._

_"What?" Tom spoke his words against her lips, almost kissing her with the single syllable._

_"It's just, this time twenty four hours ago, everything was so..."_

o o o

Sybil had never cried so much in her life. Ever. She was certain. But in all honesty, she couldn't give a flying fuck. So what? Hadn't her lover left her? Wasn't she carrying his unborn, unwanted baby? Couldn't she already have lost her place in her gang for being away for so long? She need to cry, she deserved to cry. It was all she could do remind herself she was alive during the longest night of her life. Even if the breaths were too rattling, her pulse too fast.

For it was already ten hours or so since Tom had kissed her, so softy, so chastely, before turning away and walking down the garden path. _Leaving_ her. And all she had been able to do in reaction was cry. But not great, heaving, uncontrollable sobs, no, just little, streaming tears, like someone had left a tap dripping, letting it flow silently on and on and on.

"For Gods sake!" Running a swift finger beneath both eyes, Sybil cursed her own pity and began another pace about the grand house, her prison of pain.

She was going home tomorrow, yes definitely, or not, maybe? All she knew was that her gang would soon be noticing her lack of presence, or not seeing her passing through the Downton casino, or making rounds on the streets, and for those reasons she had to go home. But that was so much easier said than done. Going back meant leaving here, and leaving here meant leaving Tom. If there was any Tom to leave beh-

"Hello?" Coming to a halt at the top of the grand staircase, Sybil held a sleeve clenching palm to her face, wiping away the watery trail. She had heard a noise, she was sure of it. There was no_ maybe it was my __imagination_ about it. If Sybil Crawley heard a noise, Sybil Crawley had heard a noise. "Who's there?"

She absent-mindedly ran her palm over her thigh, but drew her hand back in frustration in the knowledge that nightwear bottoms had no pockets for knives. The noise came again. _Fuck_. But no matter how vulnerable she felt, clad in flimsy shorts, a once passionately discarded tshirt of Tom's and her hair messily tied, she had never been born with the flight part of an adreline rush, and so began a rather unsteady decent down the stairs.

o o o

Not waiting to voice his presence, Tom bounded up the stairs toward Sybil, slipping off his jacket as he did so. Then barely hearing her gasp his name, drew her up into his arms, grasped her thighs in his palms and staggered forward until they hit the wall.

"Tom! Wha-" He smothered her mouth with his , pulling her lip between his own before sliding his tounge to meet hers.

Her reaction was unexpected on all levels of his imagination. He had expected a forcible push, a hardened punch, a fierce slap, but her hands were clawing at his hair, pulling his mouth so deep into hers that it was as though they would never part.

"Oh Syb- I-" His mind clouded when she stop his speech by taking his bottom lip between her teeth, biting down and letting it drag.

And so he shifted her weight, pushing her higher against the wall and let his body hold her in place. Her little nails clawed his neck, her breath was his own and the soft groans from deep in her throat had him hard in seconds.

His breathing was so heavy he may as well have been panting, and his hips acted of their own accord as they thrust roughly against her, the denim of his jeans a coarse contrast to the warm, softness he so craved. Everything felt hot, really hot, and misty, as though as fog had descended upon them, leaving them the only living beings in a grey, unclear world.

Before long his body was so desperate for hers, his instinctive thrusting had her thumping against the wall, causing her thighs to tighten around him as he rubbed againt her. "Oh Tom, oh Tom, Tom-"

_That _had to stop. If she kept saying his name like that, so strained, so breathless, so hot in his mouth, it was a pretty sure thing that this would end far sooner than he wanted. It had been a long time since such a thing had occured, but the way he felt now, too warm and constricted in his own skin, it may be on the return. He pushed his nose to hers, having practically torn his lips from her demanding ones. "Shh, darling, Sybil."

"O-okay." He closed his eyes as she took a deep breath through her nose, trying to calm himself as she was now attempting. They remained closed when she began sprinkling his face with soft, damp kisses. "Why are you here?"

To turn the last of my anger into to passion. To have you take away all my remaining pain. If there was ever a time to expose his heart to her, blood and veins and all, it was now. "I just- When I left you yesterday, I re- regretted it the moment I walked away." He swallowed with a gulp, sinking his fingers even deeper into her smooth thigh, meeting her lips momentarily in light kiss. "Yeah we're in trouble, I know that bu- but the moment I lost sight of you I ju-just wanted to turn around. I was practically starting my journey back to you in walking away. What's the point in being stubborn Syb, I was always going to come back in the end."

Her lips were on his neck now, her words tickling his skin as her fingers did his scalp. "It can't be that easy Tom, us, the- the baby, what I _did_."

Letting her fall to feet, but still holding her against the wall, Tom ran a thumb over her face. "It _can_ be that easy. It is for me anyway. I know I'm completely fucked when it comes to you Syb, absoultely screwed. You have me now and always. So yeah, for me, it's easy. I want you, and-" Tell her straight. "-I want our baby. I know I'm supposed to say it's your choice, that I'll support you whatever your decision, and I would, but I want it Syb, I _really_ want it."

He watched her eyes widen in something he couldn't pinpoint when he crouched before her, brushed aside her t-shirt to press his lips to her stomach. "Do you? Really?"

Falling completely to his knees from the crouch, he let his forehead push against her skin, his hands still at her thighs. "So much."

He brushed another kiss just beneath her belly button as her hands found his hair. Her next words came out with reluctance, a slight shake. "And what I did?"

Tugging at her hips, he made Sybil fall to the floor beside him as he fell back to sit on the plush carpet. "Darling, are you forgetting a few weeks ago I turned to drugs and didn't tell you? That I tried to hide it from you? That I practically lied to you? Neglected you? And what did you do? You went through it all with me, not judging me for a second. What sort of man would I be if I let your guilt eat away at you when you'd already swallowed my own?"

For a long while they simply sat, briefly stroking a patch of skin, an exposed leg, a stubbled cheek. It almost felt like a first date, darting eyes, secret smiles, damp palms. But in a way, this moment was exactly that, a new beginning. All the poison that had built between them, the harsh words, the wrong decisions, the stress of passion, seemed to seep away from them into the now cosy quiet, leaving them free to love, to forgive, to understand.

"Tom, can I sit in your lap?" He rolled his eyes at such a question and drew her close between his legs. She clung to his shirt collar when she finally met his eyes, and he could have burst from the bolt he felt to his heart. "Why didn't you come back straight away? You said you wanted to, but..."

He had told himself that if things had worked out upon his return, he would ask her, but now that the moment was actually here, it all seemed easier said than done. He fidgeted, but she clung tighter. "I had- I had things to do, to sort out."

Even tighter, with bigger, _impossibly_ bigger eyes. "Tom?"

_Fuck it_. "I want to marry you Sybil."

She blushed a little, but her reply was sarcastic, combined with a wiggle of her diamond clad finger. "Really? I didn't know."

"I'm serious." God was he. This was _right_, he hadn't been sure, but right now, he could _feel_ it. "Today. I want to marry you today. Fuck waiting around, I want to marry you, I want you to be tied to me so that we finally stop putting ourselves through all this shit. Marry me, today."

A heartbeat, then- "Y- You said you'd wait forever?"

"I said I would, but I didn't say I wanted to."

o o o

Tom had told her that she'd be amazed at what a man could manage in barely a few hours, and boy wasn't he kidding. Glancing down at her Vivienne Westwood gown, twiddling her single flower bouquet, ghosting a palm over her almost impeccable hair, she truly was, amazed.

In just a few moments she was going to be married. _Married_. Jesus, holy, Mary mother of God. Married. It wasn't that being married had ever been a dream in Sybil's life, no, she had never been the sort of girl to dream about such expected things. All her goals in life had involved nursing and escapism from an opressive, demanding family, but now, well now she about to become a wife.

"Sybil?"

The sound of her accomplices voice shook her slightly. To say it had been a surprise to find Tom had managed to coerce Mary and Edith into coming to Ireland would be a thousand understatements. She had never been more stunned in her life than this morning. Her fellow gang members fussing around her, pulling swaths of lace from boxes, whipping out hair pins and brushes, patting on makeup, oohing and awwing in brief moments of step back observation. In fact, Sybil can't have managed to speak more than a few words all morning.

"Sorry Mary?"

Mary and Edith shared a look of exasperation, each clad in their own finest designer gowns; they had decided they were to be bridesmaids before Sybil had even uttered hello. "It's time for you to go in now."

"Right." Sybil tried to give a smile, but only succeeded in a giving a half hearted nod. She saw their grimaces in return. "Look, before I go in, you have to know, I want this more than _anything_. I know that I'm pretty much dead if I do it, but to be honest, I was dead the moment I thought about Tom in a way that didn't involve killing him."

Her gang fellows nodded. Yes to you're dead. But yes to you're a woman madly in love too.

The walk to Tom could hardly be considered an aisle, what with the registry office barely being bigger than their bedroom, but each step toward him seemed to get her no where. She had never felt attention on her as acutely as she felt it now. All about her eyes shone, some winked, others widened, one pair even teared up a little.

Sat close to Tom was his family. His mother had gone beserk when he had rung her, had demanded to know how this had all come about. He had told her that they been planning this for months. But in reality, money spoke volumes, as did false documents and friends in high places. The rest of Tom's family however had been ecstastic. His Dad had been in the car before Tom could even talk to him, his brothers had sped out of work, his sister had been dragged out of school. And now they all smiled over at her, the soon to be member of the family. Her own family had refused to come. Tom had told her that when he had tracked them down and called them they had been busy, had said there was no chance they could make it to Dublin in so little hours. But she knew better. Their only child's wedding blocked by a few hour journey? _Please_. The rest of the eyes belonged to Tom's friends, but there was something in the way that they looked at her that told her they were more to him too.

Tom's eyes however were the brightest of all. "Hello."

He looked _too_ good in a suit. "Hi."

The words and vows that followed, Sybil found, came effortlessly. So perfectly in fact, that for a brief moment, when she glanced over at Tom who mouthed what she took to be a _stunning_ at her, she felt a little downhearted that they _hadn't_ had a big wedding. It would have been incredible, because this in itself was wonderful. The blushed words, the smiled repetition, the intensity between them. But to have had all her fiends around her, beneath the sparkling rainbow of a church window, all cheering on their way to a much awaited reception, would have been magical. Then again, wonderful was good enough.

They both smiled a little at _till death do us part_. They were both a little eager to slip on the others rings. They forgot everyone in the room when they said their _I dos._

And just like that, Sybil Crawley, Lords and Ladies member through and through, became Mrs. Sybil Branson, wife of a Satan's Servants main man. Funny how things work out.

"You may now kiss the bride."

Her heart was beating so hard, she could feel the blood flourishing in her cheeks. The way Tom was looking at her was like no look he had ever given her. It was so intense, so consuming that even if he hadn't just been bidden to kiss her she might have had to kiss him. His eyes, always so loving to her, now seemed not only that, but free, like all his fears and worries had escaped him. She only knew this because she felt the same.

Wrapping her fingers around his own, gripping tighter to feel the pressure of her ring on his skin, Sybil bit her inner lip as her husband leant toward her, taking her face in his palm to join them in a kiss. The room, though barely full of twenty people, errupted, and luckily didn't notice Tom's hand drift from her face to her gently brush her stomach. And for the first time, Sybil didn't want to recoil, or to block it all out. Because now, in this moment, in this kiss, was the promise of a lifetime. And surely two people who could brave such a commitment could handle one more?

So, ever so slightly, just as Tom drew back from the kiss, Sybil nodded, so slowly that an outsider would miss it. But Tom didn't, he saw, he _understood_. He kissed her again, this time pulling her almost indecently closer. Ignoring the sudden flurry of wolf whistles behind them, Sybil flung her arms around his neck, crossing over his shoulders, and kissed him back.

When they drew apart, he pushed his nose to hers and she titled her head up to kiss it. Her voice came husky. "It's not going to be easy you know."

His lips found her cheek. "For better, for worse."

They were interrupted then by a flurry of hugs and kisses. But even through each breathtaking squeeze and awkward to reach kiss, Sybil refused to let go of Tom's hand. She couldn't afford to right now, he was keeping her together, and from the way he clung back, she knew she was holding him up too. It wasn't until she had received her third hug from Tom's mother and Tom had faced another telling off, that they were approached by his friends.

Once again she was met with that feeling that the full story was being held back. She could feel it when they congratulated her but wouldn't lean forward to kiss her, she could see it when each of them seemed to clamber over the other to shake Tom's hand, could sense it in the way they looked at her, like they were waiting for her to announce something. And then it clicked. These were the start of her, of her _and_ Tom's, new gang.

They wouldn't kiss her, she was the boss after all, and even more importantly, the other bosses wife. They wanted his attention, because he was the big man, the man they all respected. They gave her full attention as it was clear as anything how united her and Tom were, and for that, she deserved the utmost consideration. Tom was boss. She was boss. This wasn't just a marriage between two lovers, but the official start of something more.

It was even more apparent when she looked up at Tom who she caught give a short nod at the boys, and when she turned back, they had somehow managed to form an almost straight line to allow them exit. An exit from this life, and into one of their own.

o o o

How they had managed to reach their bedroom Tom had little idea. But somehow, in between the carry over the threshold and the desperate kisses that soon followed, they had managed to make it up the stairs, and a mere foot from their bed. That was when Tom pulled away.

He ran a finger over her lip, marvelling at the way it sprung back into place. "I want to talk about everything, _everything_, but please Sybil, I just, I need you right now. I can't think of anything else."

From the moment he had seen her walking toward him, all white and lace and beauty, he had wanted everyone gone. And yes, he wouldn't deny that part of his need was sexual desire, but it was more than that, _so_ much more. Just having to watch her all day, during their vows, down at the pub after, on their way home in the cab, had driven his crazy with want. She was his wife now, _his_ wife, no one elses, he was the only one who could make her feel good, and now all he wanted was to show that to her.

Groaning in anticipation as Sybil gave her answer in the form of untwiddling his tie, Tom placed his forehead on hers and let his hands run over each part of her he could reach. Her smooth forearms, her lace covered breasts, her silk wrapped hips. It was like touching a painting, a masterpiece, all his to look at, but to touch seemed forbidden, too harsh for the image. She was _so_ perfect.

He couldn't stop pulling her closer for quick kisses, even though she kept berating him for stopping her gentle discarding of his clothes. He just wanted to make sure she was still there, still real. And he wasn't let down when she leant forward and began kissing his chest, running her tongue over his collar bone. Pulling her closer as she continued to torture him, he slipped her one sleeve off her shoulder, leaving both perfectly exposed for a quick kiss. Then, ever so gently, for masterpieces deserved patience and a delicate hand, Tom expertly undid each button that trailed down her back.

Like an ocean wave of white, the dress fell to her feet, and if Tom hadn't been utterly gripped by desire already, the sight of his wifes flawless body, clothed only in a creamy lace bra and thong, would have done the trick in half a second. And the man in him was becoming hungrier and hungrier. But Sybil, the independent woman she always must be had clearly decided that she _too _could want as much as him, as with two little steps and one unclasp, she stood before him, entirely naked.

Before long, they were on the bed, his now naked form hovering over hers. A few times she had reached down between them and taken hold of him, and each time he had had to close his eyes, momentarily lost and submissive to the work of her little fingers. But he wouldn't let her rush him, just like their first time, he wanted a little more before he let this all end.

His pulse beating hard throughout _every_ part of him, Tom ran kisses down the straight, white line between Sybil's breasts, smiling against her skin when he felt her hand tickle up his back and into his hair. Then, not taking his lips from her for a second, moved sideways and took one breast into his mouth. The sound of his name hissing from between her lips almost numbed him from the feel of her legs sliding around his hips. But when her gentle movement tugged him harder against her, causing his erection to brush against her inner thigh, his attention was caught, the friction just too good to ignore.

"Do you have any idea how much I love you?" He murmured, knowing that she didn't. He wasn't even sure. He just knew it was a lot._ A lot_.

"Show me, please Tom." She finished her plea by dragging her tongue just behind her ear. She knew what that did to him, even the lightest brush and he'd shake, _was_ shaking.

And she had him right where she wanted him. His control, his patience, was beginning to wane as he titled his head closer to her. "More, _please_ Syb, just a little..."

The next few minutes made everything so much hotter, so much more urgent. She was still kissing his neck, tasting his skin when he eventually came to his senses and pulled back, returning his attention to her breasts, grazing his teeth over their pink tips. But then her hands were everywhere, her nails piercing his skin when just moaning wasn't an outlet enough, grasping his tense forearms as he adjusted above her, determined to give attention to every part of her body. And when he reached down and pushed a finger inside of her, pressing and dragging within her, she started begging him to stop, but straining her hips toward him all the same. He gathered that like him, she wasn't going to reach _that_ point until they were together properly. But he played with her a little more before giving in.

She tugged him into a kiss when he shifted again, clearly aware of what he was about to do. "Can- Can you believe we're married?"

He crinkled his eyes as he gazed down at her beautiful hot face, already twinkling with sweat. He shook his head. "No, it's like a fantasy, a dream Syb."

She shimmied beneath him at his words and he groaned so loudly he caught her smiling. "It doesn't have to be. Make it real."

So he did. And he almost came apart in the same second. All the times he had made love to Sybil in the past didn't matter right now, they counted for nothing in this moment. For this was something else, _really_, something else. They were allowed to do this, expected even, for they were not gang enemies in this moment, but man and wife consummating their marriage; the freedom was liberating.

Soft and slow and quiet was their lovemaking. The lamp beside the bed threw their shadows- _shadow_ against the wall. Tom rising and falling. The outline of his lips merging with Sybil's. Sybil writhing and surging up. The dark image of her hand tracing his body. But no shaking, misting shadow could capture the heat of their skin, the utter breathlessness that came from such sweet torture, the tightening, urgent, gathering pleasure, the view of blue eyes saying nothing but _love me_.

The moment Sybil came beneath him, Tom felt himself pulled into one last, exhausted kiss, her lips shaking, damp against his. "I l-love you."

And he did not move his lips away, even though her trembling, twisting form made it difficult, when he too joined her. His oath of love came in the form of one word. "Sybil."

o o o

_"...different?" Tom smirked above her._

_She rolled her eyes, using her thumbs to brush softly over his eyebrows. "Different is the word."_

_Grunting as he forced all his weight onto one arm, Sybil let Tom take her left hand again, slipping on a few more invisible rings. "I now pronounce you- urgh!"_

_Knowing that Tom would never let her go to her ringing phone without a fight, she used all her strength to push him over and onto his back. Leaping from the bed, not bothering to grab any form of cover, ran naked to her little silk pouch on the dresser, giggling frantically in the fear that Tom would chase her. But when she turned around he was still laid on the bed, indicating his very much prominent erection as if to say, who's going to deal with this now?_

_She had to bite her cheek to keep from barking with laughter as she answered the phone. "Hello?"_

_"Sybil?"_

_Stumbling over onto the bed, suddenly eager to have her body covered, Sybil could barely manage a reply. "Yes, G-Grantham?"_

_Her boss never, ever, called her. Ever. Never in three years had she spoken to him by phone, not once. If there was a meeting it was passed on my word of mouth until she got a phonecall from a gang fellow. Even once or twice she had been with Grantham when he had asked that she be the one to spread the word. But never, never did he makes calls himself._

_Something had to be wrong. Really wrong. "I'm gathering Lords and Ladies for a meet this afternoon. Cora is ill, very ill, I need all protection possible around her at the moment. If Satan's Servants hear one word of this I'm afraid they may try to attack when my personal life is at it's most vulnerable."_

_He didn't sound vulnerable, he sounded determined, authoritative, deadly. "Of course, of course I'll be there."_

_"Yes you will." The phone cut off._

Please Review ^^

Two notes! One, I'm so sorry this is almost 12 hours late! It got a little tricky! So to anyone who stayed up for the chapter, I am honestly so, so sorry! Hopefully the fact that it's now here will make up for it? Two, I gotta say, last weeks review? Outstanding! You have no idea how many times I squeed over each and everyone of your comments! You can all join my gang! Hahaha!

Love till Monday...


	25. Weight of the World

_Chapter Song - Weight of the World by Young Guns_

_'Oh I can clearly see, the mountains that I've yet to climb, but I'll get there if it kills me'_

_. . . . . . . . . . ._

"Why didn't anyone tell me she was like this?"

Closing her eyes tight against the harsh hospital ward light, Sybil pushed her linked fingers to her lips, dreading what she must now tell Grantham. "She took a turn for the worse about half an hour ago. Where were you?"

Silence followed her words as her boss surveyed his fever stricken wife, now being prodded and fussed over by a pair of nurses, and for a moment Sybil wondered if she had crossed the line in asking her boss a question. "Out. I went for a walk. Carlisle said he thought he'd seen a Servant in the area, he's checking now."

A few minutes passed after Sybil nodded in recognition of Grantham's words. He did not sit and she did not offer that he take her own; he wouldn't like that at all. Instead he paced about the private room, the best secrecy money could buy, simply staring accross at his wife with cold, frightening eyes.

No one in Lords and Ladies had said it, they wouldn't dare, but they all felt a little on edge at the moment. What with Grantham, practically an owner of London, a man who could have what he wanted when he wanted, suddenly being told _no_ by the voice of fate, well... Such angered feeling within such a powerful man may not bode well for his workers. A scared man could be just as dangerous as violent one. And the Lords and Ladies leader was both.

But right now, in this moment alone, staring over at her boss, suit and knife and guns and all, Sybil found herself understanding. She didn't feel scared, or worried that at any moment Grantham could snap and throw her bodily from the room. No, she related. For the way he looked at Cora, with not stern eyes, but fearful ones, and how he paced around her, not with swagger, but with lumbered steps, had her connecting to his pain.

If that were Tom, her husband, and she were the one forced to watch, unable to help, wanting nothing more than to flee the scene but tied down by _in sickness and in health_, she would be exactly the same. Worried, on edge, ready to tip at any moment, because if something happened to them, it happened to you too. But worse, so much worse. How odd, how true.

Standing for what felt like the- _was_, the first time in hours, Sybil crept over to Cora's side, her gun thumping gently against her thigh. No one outside the immediate Lords and Ladies circle knew what was wrong with the bosses wife, and Grantham wasn't taking any chances in the fear Satan's Servants would learn of her illness. A virus, the nurses had said, and Sybil had found herself agreeing with them. Aching joints, sickness, intense headaches, a blistery ra-

Sybil cut her gasp short, worrying that what she may have just discovered would be the final spark to set her dynamite boss off. Instead, she coughed little, patting her collar bone in a most lady like manner. She stood a little aback from the bosses wife, for Cora's nurses where now buzzing around her, pressing wet cloths to her bare arms and forehead. "There we are Mrs. Grantham, that's better isn't it."

One turned to Grantham, and Sybil almost found the time to smirk at how utterly in awe she seemed; she was clearly no stranger to his gang boss title, not with such a big pay check probably neatly tucked into her pinafore. "She's been with her all night."

Surely Cora couldn't have-? No, children got- But it was common in adults. And dangerous, sometimes _fatal_. "Sybil, you must have a rest."

It took Grantham's words for Sybil to realise that the nurse had been referring to her when she had spoken of the all nighter. It was true she supposed, she had been here far longer than Evelyn had, and far longer than Carlisle, but it hadn't really occured to her. The nurse within her had wanted to investigate, the gangmember she was wanted to offer all protection possible, and the simple woman just wanted to show support. "Not just now, Grantham. If you don't mind, I want to see her through the worst if I can." She took a step closer, just a fraction, and took a wet towel from a slightly put out nurse. "Now, I'll just make this colder for you. And nurse, if I could just have your attention for a moment." Still looking put out, as if to say _I'm the nurse here not you_, the uniformed woman shuffled to Sybil's side. "You see these marks, like, these little red ones. Do you think they're blisters?"

The grumpy nurse, who seemed in awe of the power Sybil emanated, but resentful that she felt so, gently, very gently, for Grantham's benefit no doubt, lifted Cora's arm. "Yes, they do. What are you thinking?"

Sybil ignored the haughty tone to the nurses question; she could toss her against these four walls before the bitch blinked if she really wanted. "Chickenpox. And I'm not joking, check her whole body. We've had it covered this whole time, but I'm serious, check her."

She half expected the nurse to demand further proof, but suddenly Grantham was at their side, closer to his wife than since the day she had been struck down. "How is she, really? Tell me the truth."

"I can't yet." She hated to say the words, especially with Grantham stood so close and threatening. "The nurses will know more in a few hours. If it is chickenpox, it- it _is_ dangerous to adults. Can be very dangerous, I'm sorry. It is rare, but if adults or preg- pregnant women get it, it can be highly... highly risky."

Stepping back from Cora as though she were on fire, Sybil barely heard Grantham's words. "God Almighty, how can this be? My whole life could be gone over a cliff in the course of a single day."

"So could mine." The words fell from Sybil's lips like ice, cold and numb. And apparently inaudible, for neither the nurses or Grantham reacted. Trying not to sound desperate, or panicked, or out of her mind with worry, Sybil returned to her bosses side. "I might help Carlisle, you know, to check for Servants, I'll go now, should I?"

The stars were in her favour. "Yes, perhaps you're right, I'm here after all. Go, check the area. Carlisle may be thorough with the prey, but I trust you with the hunt."

o o o

Running a fist over his probably fat, purple lip, Tom rubbed the resultant blood on his jacket. "Fucking LL prick."

He had been looking for Sybil all morning. Scouring a London that seemed to be entirely against him. Huge crowds, grey weather, cars rushing from all angles, an LL in the form of Carlisle desending upon him. The punch up had been bloody, bare knuckle fighting, but a well timied police siren had separated them. Usually attacking an LL, particularly Carlisle would have been a dream come true for Tom. But he had a wife and baby to consider now, and risking his life for an old grudge didn't seem quite worth it any more. Another rough wipe, congealed blood now, black, like ox blood.

He had been ringing her for hours, sent endless texts, but nothing. And the last time this had happened had hardly faired well for them. _No_. This was different. Entirely. Now they were maried, she was his wife. His wife. All his. Oh Sybil. Memories of laughter, of vows, of kisses, of lovemaking, of thin gold bands danced a sudden party in Tom's head.

"Mate, if you can smile through that I reckon it won't be so bad to tell the missus I just got the sack."

Tom instantly pulled his face into a frown at the passerby's comment and picked up his pace to the nearest shop window. The sleek, dark grey reflecting of the storming clouds above created a perfect mirror in the glass, but what it revealed was less than perfect. His lip was worse than he imagined, and he was pretty sure he had never been punched in the eye. But then again, when he was going for Carlisle's knif- Yeah, now he remembered.

Curving the collar of his jacket as high as it would go over his face, Tom tilted his head to the dented concrete streets and began the swift walk to his Ferrari Enzo; the Bugatti was now in Ireland, where it would stay until it's much heartbroken father would return. The walk was quick enough, and he was soon revving the engine. But then-

"Holy shit Gwen, a little warning please?" Tom angrily shuffled the car into gear as his ex-girlfriend swept her wind blown hair to one side.

"I'm guessing Carlisle didn't offer one either, just before he beat you to a pulp?" Yup, definitely an _ex_-girlfriend. Bitter, vengeful. Things had never gotten better between them. Though in her defence, he supposed he _had_ cheated on her, and simply used her as a distraction from his true love to begin with...

Whipping the roaring Ferrari through the maze of towering office blocks and shabby, worn down pubs, Tom flung round a corner, hard. "So you saw the whole thing but failed to jump in and help?"

"That's about right." Her smile didn't reach her eyes, and she angered Tom further by splaying a palm on the car window. Urgh, the finger prints. "But whilst, uh, observing, I think I happened to notice something you didn't."

"Carlisle's swift technique? His Italian cut suit?" He was driving one handed now. He knew he was capable, he just hoped Gwen didn't.

"Both, of course. But I also happened to notice he wasn't just fighting you." She paused for dramatic effect, scowling a little when Tom refused to take the bait. "He was blocking you."

"Blocking me?" Alright, she had his interest now. _Blocking_?

Sighing heavily, Gwen gave into her fear and gripped the dashboard with both hands. "Yes, blocking. While you've been galavanting all over God knows where, fucking who knows what-"

"Gwen!"

"-you've been missing what I have." She growled as the car came to a halt, the Abbey restaurant just ahead, doorman already straightening at their posts. "Somethings going on, the LL's are gathering, and it isn't just this war we're in, somethings wrong."

If there were two things Tom Branson was capable of, it was brewing a temper and speaking his mind. And neither ever did him any favours. Now, for example. "Like the bosses wife being bed ridden?"

The fiery red head storming ahead of him flung round as though caught in the breeze. Her eyes blazed, but they did not look interested, but disappointed, and a little furious with it. Ah, she thought she had a lead. Something exciting to offer the gang. "Right- So you- And you were going to share this with all of us soon were you?"

He could hear his heart racing, pounding with guilt. Sybil, his wife, the woman carrying his child had begged him not to tell Satan's about Cora's illness, infact, she hadn't even begged, just asked, assuming he, as her husband, could keep it quiet. If he could chase the words down and swallow them he would. But it was too late for backtracking now. "Yeah, I just told _you_ didn't I?"

"Oh, forgive me Tom, but you don't get it. You strut around in this gang thinking it's all within your grasp, that if you want something enough it will come to you. Which in your case it does." He really didn't have time for this. He needed to find Sybil, tell her that once again he had fucked up, and to do that he had to clean up a little. "Well, I'm not like that. I don't think my dreams are bound to come true, because... because they almost never do. I learnt that when you decided I wasn't eno-"

This really was too much. What the hell was she going on about? Was she still hung up on him? He really didn't have time for this. So, picking up his pace, Tom lithely flew into the Abbey. He didn't know then that that was the last time he would ever see Gwen. She wasn't willing to give up her lead, and Carlisle wasn't either.

"Tom!"

"For fucks sake, _what_?" Flinging both arms over his head, Tom spun around with a slight swoosh. "Oh, Mrs. Hughes, I thought you were Gwen."

"Glad to hear it, because I really don't think you want to be having a pop at me lad. Oh, what happened-? Never mind, I don't want to know." The restaurant was next to empty, just a few cleaning staff pottering about here and there, a few waiters laying out silver cutlery with rulers, but when Mrs. Hughes nudged her head toward her office, Tom gathered this wasn't privacy enough. Following with a slightly hesitant gait, edging around silk laden tables and towering floral arrangements, Tom slipped into the office. From her desk, Elsie looked up at Tom with an expression he couldn't quite decipher. "You don't have long left Tom."

"Long left? Well, that's a comfort. I don't know-?" He shook his head and stumbled backward slightly. "Three months... I wasn't even thinki- Oh _shit_."

Elsie brought her clasped hands down on the desk. "And by that reaction, I assume you're not prepared for your deadline?"

"Elsie, I..." How had he forgotten? Three months they had been given. And that was almost all they had lost. "Please, don't tell Carson, not yet. We have some things sorted, we just need a-"

"-little more time perhaps?" Mrs. Hughes rose from her seat, her crisp suit ironing out it's own creases. "I can't give it to you Tom. I told you when I found out about all this, you had three months, and we both know that was generous, and very dangerous for me-"

"I appreciate that, I do, but things have changed." He turned away from Elsie, pressing his thumping forehead momentarily against the cool, plastered wall.

"Changed? How so? I'm assuming you're still with her, with that _Lady_. So how have things changed?" Tapping his forehead to the wall now, Tom tried to ignore the gradually demanding tone to his blackmailers voice.

He turned, blowing out a rush of air. "I married her Elsie, a couple of days ago. I proposed a little while before, but then we just went ahead and married in Dublin. We're husband and wife."

"Oh lad." Like a disappointed mother, Elsie shook her head at the floor. "You couldn't have waited? Till all of this was sorted? It's bad enough what you've done already, but to have _married_ her?" She shook her head again, but when she spoke, her tone was questioning. "As bad as I know such news will be received, how does this _change_ anything? Why does that demand more time?"

Tom gave a laugh of thick, utter, nervousness at her question, but running a palm through his hair, made the final admittance. "She's pregnant too, she's having my baby. About eleven, twelve weeks gone. She was pregnant when you discovered us, we didn't know then though, but yeah, she's carrying our baby."

That one knocked Elsie for six. She sat with a light thump. "Fucking heavens Tom."

He would have laughed at her un- Mrs. Hughes like language had the situation been anything _but_ the obvious discussion of where and when he could be forced to run for his life. "And I know what you'll say now. You'll say Carson wouldn't touch a pregnant woman, even if she is a Lady. And maybe you're right, I think so anyway. It's been my only bit of light in all this. But Elsie, do you really think he'll spare me? You really think he'll care about killing the baby's father? _Seriously_?"

Not looking up at him, face in her palms, Mrs. Hughes exhaled loudly. "No, he won't. He won't Tom. Oh lad, is she honestly pregnant? Don't lie to me, I don't deserve that."

He would have got down on his knees if not for his natural, ingrained pride. "I swear she is, on my life. Ha, that's ironic." He paused for a moment and was pleased to see Elsie looking up at him. "When I said goodbye to her, the other day, I think I could feel it. I don't mean kicking or movement, I know it's _way_ too early for all that. But she felt different you know, like she was getting a bump..."

Tom felt his cheeks flare red with embarrassment, he had no idea what had compelled him to confess such a thing. Elsie stood, her strength back. "Look, you still have time, only a little, but still time. But I can tell you right here, right now, I am _not_ going to give you any more. Don't look at me like that. I'm doing you a favour boy, the quicker you get out of here, both of you, the better. Now go and find her, any moment could be too late."

o o o

Sybil was and wasn't surprised at how fast she found Tom. Her head was all over the place. There was so much to say, so much to tell, and in all honesty, she just needed a little bit of a cry. When she had managed to get away from Cora, it had taken her an hour to realise she still had her phone off, had just been blindly driving about London, forgetting that she had actually married the man she sought now, that this sneaking around wasn't entirely nesessary.

It was late evening when they decided to meet, so the darkness was enough cover for now. The clouds from earlier had drifted away, leaving the sky a clear, navy blue, stars shimmering like glitter, smudged and coloured now and then by aeroplane smoke or the flashing lights of a helicopter. There were a lot out tonight, and that didn't usualy bode well for those on the wrong side of the law.

Sybil stopped dragging her feet at the sight of an oncoming figure, who's walk she would know anywhere. Tripping down the path of St. James Park, Buckingham Palace just in view along the lit road of the Mall, she practically ran into Tom's arms, before vomiting rather violently over a low fence and into a rose bush.

She could feel a warm hand at her back, another scooping up her hair. "Syb, darling, are you _alright_?"

Heaving a few more times before she could answer, Sybil panted in reply. "What- what are you wearing? And what happened to your face?"

"Wearing?" Tom was leaning over now, clearly trying too check for disillusion in her eyes.

"Not-" She heaved again, the trickle of vomit splattering a creaky, paint chipped sign; _'Don't feed the Pelicans'_. "-your clothes. I meant, what fragrance are you wearing?"

"Ah, Gucci by Gucci. Sybil, are you alright, really?" Tom murmured his words softly as he pulled her up a little straighter.

She took a shaky breath, spitting the last of the vile taste onto the grass.. "Why aren't you wearing your usual? Because let me tell you, baby don't- like- Gucci."

Her eyes closed briefly as she felt two warm palms take her face, thumbs gently massaging her hot cheeks. "Was that some sort of weird pregnancy sickness?"

She opened them, practically hearing the smile in Tom's voice before she actually saw it. "Yeah, I guess so. I was wondering when it was going to start, it's a little late actua- Oh Tom, what am I saying!"

And then she was sobbing, hard into his shoulder. But Tom, playing the decent part of husband and disregarding the fact she had just thrown up, pulled her closer, whispering against her hair. "Shh, calm down, just calm down and then talk to me."

"O-okay, it's just. Cora got chickenpox, which sounds really stupid, but it's not because it's really bad for adults, and she's _so_ ill, but she might be okay now we know. But then I remembered-" She took a long, shaky breath, burying deeper into Tom's jacket, ignoring the queasy feeling curdling in her stomach. "-it's really bad for pregnant women too, and I _am_ a pregnant woman and I panicked. I don't know if I've ever had chickenpox and I can't ask my family can I?_ Oh Mum, it's been fucking years, but do you know if I've ever had chickenpox_! So now we need to go to the doctor Tom because our baby might be in dange-"

Rather roughly, Sybil felt herself pulled from Tom's jacket, her little place of comfort, and was slightly angry to find Tom grinning at her; didn't he realise how _serious_ this was? "Darling, you don't need the doctor. You _have_ had chickenpox, you're fine."

One hiccup. Two hiccups. "I- I have?"

"Mmhm, you have a few little scars, on your lower back. Like little white dots. Cassidy has a few on her arms, they're the same." He pulled her close again, lips to her forehead. "Trust me, you've had chickenpox. Baby is fine."

Her pregnancy cocktail of emotion was shaken and stirred for a few moments, but the spinning wheel of feeling ended up on relief. "Thank fuck, I really thought- For a moment there- Oh thank _fuck_."

Ignoring her stomach now growling protest, Sybil resumed her clinging position around Tom's neck, her wet face patching the leather of his jacket. For a few moments they simply held one another, and just when she was about to pull back, to tell him something soppy like_ isn't this a beautiful night _or something, jeez these emotions, he pulled back first. "Sybil, I have to tell you something."

Worry now, anxiousness. Her insides bubbled. She hiccuped with a soft sound, like the cluck of a chicken. "Why am I not looking forward to hearing this?"

He glanced left and right, and Sybil got the distinct feeling he was searching for some male back up. "I was with Gwen earlier-"

"Gwen? As in your ex-_girlfriend_ Gwen?" Oh shit, here it comes. In between splashing vomit all over her and Tom's shoes, Sybil waved an arm out wildly at him, batting him away but wanting to punch him all at once. "What did you do?"

"Christ, let me help-" She stood up abruptly and pushed his hand away. "Alright! Look, I was wish Gwen earlier, and she got me angry, just being a bitch, and I was stressed because Carlisle had attacked me and I couldn't find you, and I told her- I told her Cora was ill."

Hands on hips, Sybil sucked in air as though oxygen was going out of fashion, before feeling steady enough to voice her reply. Suddenly she didn't feel much emotion at all. "You told Satan's? After I asked you not to? Well... Wasn't that clever."

She knew turning around was utterly pointless, but she did it anyway, only to find Tom already in front of her. "I know it wasn't, okay? I'm sorry, I am, it just came out. But I don't think she's done much about it, I haven't heard a thing from anyone."

"You know that isn't the point." Blinking at him with huge eyes, Sybil prayed to God that they wouldn't tear up. Strong woman, _strong_.

"I know. And I'm sorry, I am, but I'll talk to her, get her to keep it quiet, at least for a little while."

Rolling her eyes, and offering a look of pure anger, Sybil spoke her words slowly. "You, are going to ask, your ex-girlfriend, to keep a secret with you?"

"Oh God, you know it isn't like that. I'm trying to protect you, I fucked up, and this is the only way I can think of right now to fix it. "His voice was so sincere Sybil let him take her hand, but only reluctantly. "You aren't wearing your wedding ring?"

The utter heartache in his words stirred Sybil like no Gucci could. She was angry, or at least she knew she _should_ be, but the man infront of her wasn't just a lover any more, a man she was supposed to avoid, no, this was her husband, and refusal to forgive was not what a marriage was built upon. She stroked his thumb, noticing a purple bruising to his knuckles as she did so. "I've been with Grantham today, it was too risky to keep on. You can put it back on now, if you want? I don't really want to do it for myself."

He nodded, was still nodding in fact when she slipped the gold loop into his palm. They both watched as the ring graced her white finger. But she didn't miss the way Tom glanced sideways with lost eyes. "There's more Sybil."

She drew back her hand. Emotions rising. "To do with Gwen?"

"No, no. Not Gwen. With Elsie, Mrs. Hughes, you know, the Abbey manager."

"Ahh." The stars were ever so bright tonight. "Three months nearly over? I had a feeling."

"You remembered?" Tom's eyebrows curved slightly. "Why didn't you mention...?"

Wiggling her golden clad finger over her stomach, Sybil allowed herself a brief, rather sad smile. "It hasn't exactly been my number one priority recently, if you get my drift. I guess I lost track, caught up in other matters." He joint her smile, taking her hand once more. "So come on, what about her? We still have just under a month, don't we?"

"That's just it. I don't think we should take it." Icy blue met sapphire. "I think we either need to run now, or tell them, but either way it has to be soon."

Boom, boom, boom. The rush of blood beating through Sybil's ears was like a thunder cloud, stormy and rumbling. "Really? But, but _why_? Surely we need all the time we can get? To prepare, to get ready for Ireland and our life our there?"

He pulled her close, his fingers pushing into her rather firm belly. "Because there's more at risk now than we ever considered before. Because the longer we keep everything secret, the more danger you, the _baby_, is in. If we tell them now, Carson won't touch you, not in this state, and I doubt Grantham would either, but if they don't know, they could still hurt you."

"But what about you?" She already knew the answer. One for the cause was Tom Branson.

"Don't worry about me, I'll be with you, of course, but I can always run for a bit if needs be. It'll be fine." He dragged a shoe along the gravel path.

Opening her mouth two or three times, Sybil stopped to consider for a moment. She wanted to tell him that no, this was an awful idea, that they should use all the time they had left to plan. That they would be fine, what was a few more weeks? But then she felt his fingers probe a little harder, but sort of softer all at once, against her lower stomach, and the words just wouldn't come out. "How long?"

Strong arms wound around her waist. "I think a week is the least we can manage. But it's up to you if you want to tell them. I'm going to let Elsie tell my side, I'm choosing to run, unless an opportunity arises. But your gang is still your gang Sybil, you've been through a lot with them, I understand that, and I appreciate you may want to do things differently."

She nodded, breathing swiftly through her nose as she did so. "I want to tell them, face to face. I can't leave it up to Mary and Edith, that isn't fair, that's wrong. I've been with the LL's a long time Tom, I think I owe them the decency of the truth."

"So next week. Monday?"

"Next week Monday."

_Please Review, inspire me for THE BIG ONE next week ^^_

_Sorry if this felt a bit of a filler chapter this week, I've tried to add detail where I can so it doesn't seem so, but of course, a little preparation is needed for the big reveal.  
>I have an idea in mind where I would like to base it, but if any one has any ideas about modernising the Drawing Room Confession, just let me now.<em>

_So next week Monday, eh?_


	26. Guts

_Chapter Song - Guts by All Time Low_

_'Lay awake and dream of the endless possibilities. Catch my breath and go for it.'_

_. . . . . . . . . ._

It had astounded Tom how many times a couple could argue in the space of a week. Honestly, he was genuinely stunned. In just seven days more harsh words, screamed insults, yelled accusations and spat curses had been thrown between him and Sybil than they had probably ever shared in all their time of knowing one another. And the worst part, the God damn worst part of every _fuck you!_ and_ why the hell did we marry?_, was that it was born of fear. Blood chilling fear. They had fought from tension before, from strong views and misunderstanding, and each time they had somehow made up, battled their way through in love or lust. But anger from fear prevented that, fear didn't just _go away. _Fear riddled your bones and clung to your skin, where it would stay, festering and growing in strength until that blissful moment it passed.

Yes, this week had been harder than either he, and he was sure for Sybil also, had ever expected. The utter magnitude of what they were going to do had suddenly fallen on them like a tonne of lead bricks. The realisation that all they had gone through so far had been the least difficult part had shaken them, and the task they now had to face, the _last_ task, really was life or death. Taking on one of the most ruthless gangs in London? Telling them that you had been betraying them for months? Suicide.

The red Ferrari Enzo swept up the drive with a sound like the lap of the ocean, effortlessly gliding up to the entrance of the Downton casino, scattering bullets of gravel softly in it's wake. It being Monday, there was little custom, but that didn't make Tom feel any better in the slightest; a bigger crowd may have subdued a soon to be raging Grantham. May have enabled Sybil to tell him in the quiet, honest manner she had intended. He allowed himself a false laugh;_ as if_.

For a moment Tom took a few deep breaths. The last time he had faced death he had been able to accept it on the grounds that he had chosen a life that carried such risk, and as such would be ridiculous not to greet. But now, well now he had something to live for, a wife and an unborn child, and that made everything so much harder. His wife, his Sybil, had no idea what he was about to do, but he couldn't, he just _couldn't_ sit at home waiting for her to call. He couldn't deal with pacing and clock watching , until he knew that she was safe. God, if the next few minutes didn't bring about his death, the torture in waiting for her to call would have done it.

Another rush of laughter tumbled from his once again licked lips. It was now or never. Jesus, this time last year he had only just joined the gang world, had only just begun to discover what it meant to be Servant. And now look where he was; about to take on one of it's kings. That had been one of the arguments; that they hadn't known eachother long enough and that it had all been one huge, rushed mistake. Neither had apologized, but it had ended with Sybil withdrawing her once again stashed wedding ring from her pocket and asking that he put it on for her...

Tom was bounding up the swirled marble steps of the Downton before he even realised he had left the car. And straight away he was pounced apon by two heavies, large men with brute force but little intelligence. Perfect for the dirty work and protection. In fact, if Tom survived tonight, he really ought to think about finding himself and Sybil some.

It didn't take a genius to realise from the looks on their faces that they knew exactly who's side he had come from. "Evening gents, wouldn't mind if I stepped in for a bit would you? Only I have word from Carson that Grantham would really love to hear."

One shuffled. "From a dirty _fucking_ SS prick like you?"

The other cracked his knuckles almost comically. "Yeah, cos the boss really wants to waste his precious time talking to a motherfucker of Carson's."

Tom smirked at their words, raising his head just enough so that they could see it in the golden light thrown from a nearby window. "Right, that's just fine then, if Grantham can't take a message from a fellow businessman, if he doesn't think he's up to taking word just now then that's fine. Night lads."

It took a few steps longer than Tom had expected, but suddenly he was being called back and escorted down a long, plush corridor, the walls bearing black and white shots of Grantham playing poker, drinking champagne, laughing with celebrities, surrounded by feather and jewel clad women. Each footfall felt as though his shoes were sinking into the carpet, like the world around him seemed desperate for him to turn back. But he soldiered on, knowing deep in his heart that no matter how scared he was for his life, he was more concerned for the two ahead of him, just behind those great doors.

The two men stopped suddenly as though a barrier prevented them from going any further, and turned to face him. With one wave of a hand they bid him entrance, and from the way they grinned as he passed them, clearly _assumed_ no return. Shrugging his shoulders in his Hugo Boss suit, pulling roughly at his platinum cuff links, Tom burst into the room, not as an enemy, not as a Servant, but as Branson the gang boss, here to rescue his Lady.

o o o

"I'm here."

Like a vacuum, all the air seemed to be wrenched from Sybil's lungs, sending her into a hysteric state of breathing. Sucking, gulping, choking on air. She pressed a shaking hand to her heart, then tore it away the moment she felt her lifeline pounding like that of a racehorse. She wanted to cry, to weep and sob from fear. Why was he _here_? Why, why, _why_? He was supposed to wait for her to do this, _alone_! He had no idea what had been preventing her from acting either. She had never been less pleased to see Tom in all her life. And neither apparently, had Grantham.

He rose from his seat at the table, one hand leant on the dark wood, the other reaching out subconciously for his much healthier, but no less protected, wife; the object of tonight's Lords and Ladies gathering. "So I see. It isn't often that I do, but perhaps I'll be glad? Have Satan's Servants come to surrender perhaps?"

A bout of nervous laughter rippled about the table; there was no mistaking the icy danger in Grantham's voice. Sybil could practically feel every gun and knife being drawn from beneath the lace table cloth, and when she considered exactly who those weapons were intended for, she almost heaved. But then she looked at him, at Tom, and everything changed.

There he was, suited up and serious, staring at her as though nothing else in the world existed. It was clear he couldn't care less that the entire room suddenly wanted him dead, or that they could act on their wants at any second. In fact, if she looked close enough, she was sure she could see the slightest quiver of a smirk on his lips. And just like that, she calmed. Now was not the time to break down and lose it, now was the time to take control.

Raising from her seat, pulling her swaying hair over shoulder, then fluffing it back over, Sybil strutted over to Tom with all the power she could muster, the shimmer of a nearby roulette light speading her shadow ahead. Her heart and pulse were beating and throbbing so loudly in her ears she wasn't sure she would have heard any of her gang question her, if they hadn't chosen to remain in silence however, watching her every move.

The familiar scent of Tom offered her the sweetest moment of comfort before she put her plan into action. Leaning backward on the table, practically laying back on her elbows, Sybil acted the part of the Lady she was soon not to be. Lolling her leg over the other, rolling her eyes briefly at a tense looking Edith, she turned back and offered Tom a wink. A warning. Then with her most bored, sarcastic voice, she found herself able to speak. "I don't think this is such a good idea. You mustn't worry, but Violet Dowager is here. I assume you _didn't_ know that?"

_Please_ Tom. Please make up a lie and walk away. This is too dangerous. I didn't know she would be here. Tonight isn't the night. Please Tom, I'm _begging_ you. He shook his head at the silent plea in her eyes and held out a hand. "You've asked me to come, and I've come."

Without over thinking or desperately trying to come up with some way to escape this, Sybil allowed Tom to take her hand, pulling her swiftly to her feet, where she placed her free palm against his chest, smashing every barrier imaginable. The crash of falling chairs that followed as the gang swept to it's feet was deafening. But Tom and Sybil did not turn to face fate until they heard the voice.

"I've heard about our visitor. Would someone please tell me what is going on?" Violet entered the room with surprising stealth; rue the day she backed down to a Servant invasion. Sybil clung to Tom's shirt beneath the gaze of their true leader. "Or have we all gotten high on glass?"

Sybil somehow found herself pulled flush against her husband by the waist, and just about managed to reach down to add pressure to her vice like hold on Tom's hand when he spoke. "Your leader has as much right to know as anybody else."

Violet did not answer immediately, much to Sybil's agony, but seemed to float over to the table in a complete calm, where she sat on the only one chair not having toppled off it's legs. The entire table held it's breath, stroked triggers, caressed knives, flicked branded wrists; waiting for the go ahead. "Why don't I find that reassuring?"

Maybe sometime in the future, if she _had_ a future that was, Sybil might know what changed in her then. But looking out at her entire gang, her family of the past three years, she suddenly realised it was now or never. She had had enough of this, fucking _enough_. Her time was now.

Releasing her hold on Tom, though she felt him try to keep contact, Sybil pulled her gun from it's holster, her blade from her thigh, and slid them across the table. To attempt a fight was beyond her wildest dreams, but would definitely bring to life her worst nightmares. "I think you've all probably guessed there's something I need to tell you."

"Sybil?" Grantham had suddenly taken charge again, fluttering his hand in command that his members be seated. Then, he himself sat, hands clasped around his Glock, eyes piercing. "Go ahead."

_Now_. "I don't know quite how to put this." She felt Tom shuffle behind her and continued quickly; if he spoke there was no telling how Lords and Ladies would react. For too long had she lived in hatred of the SS, she was no stranger to the fury they could ignite. "I wish it didn't have to be this way, I really do." Her voice caught when she met Grantham's eye. "You don't need details, unless you want them, of- of course. But me and Tom- "Without looking back she swung her hand backward and found her husbands waiting. "-we're together. We've been together for a long while now, and it's about time you knew."

At that moment, Carlisle, Isabel and Evelyn came bursting in through the doors, stopping abruptly at the scene before them. Sybil clasping the hand of a man obviously bearing the SS neck stamp and the rest of the gang staring at them, weapons drawn, as though they might spontaneously combust at any given moment.

That was when Sybil heard Tom's whisper. "Now, tell them _now_."

She was about to fling around in complete confusion to tell him that she just _had_ when she realised she had missed something. In her break of vision from the table to the new entrants, she had missed Grantham signalling two shooters. There they stood, Mary and Matthew, either side of the boss, Glocks raised, hands steady. Sybil almost laughed at the sudden change in loyalties. For so long, _so long_, she had fought along side these people, and now she was their target.

Grantham seemed to read her thoughts, and was happy for their darkness. "Continue."

That same, accented whisper. "_Tell_ them. Or I will."

_What_? Tell them? She was telling them wasn't she? Sybil swallowed. "We met last year, and yes, we both knew who the other was. We hat- _disliked_ one another at first, of course, on principle. But then we kept meeting, by chance, never planned I promise. It just kept happening more and more. And I guess- Well I- I don't know what else to say other than I fell in love with him, we fell in love with eachother. I tried to ignore it, I knew it was wrong but, I couldn't help it."

As Sybil expected, her words were meant with hisses and sighs from around the table, but it was the sudden tightening of Mary and Matthews grip that seemed to be of her husbands expectations. "Sybil _now_!"

What was it? She broke and turned. "What Tom?"

But it was too late. In just a second Tom managed to pull her back and place himself infront of her, riling the LL's up something feirce. Some stood, others cursed, some simply sneered at him as though he were dirt. "She's pregnant Grantham, she's having a baby. So for the _fucking_ love of God will you call off the guns? If not on me, fine, but take them off of her."

Time froze for Sybil then. She watched as the gang boss exhaled air like cigar smoke, saw as Matthew's arm trembled on his weapon, stared as Mary lowered her gun... without permission to do so. "You're pregnant? When was this? Why didn't you tell me when-"

"When what Mary?" Grantham rose from his chair, an almost casual tone to his voice. Slick and smooth. Dangerous, deadly.

Mary was no fool. You didn't lie to man who had built his world on them. "When she previously told me about her and the Servant. I knew, you see. I regret that I did, but yes, I knew."

"What do you mean, _you knew_?" This time there was no mistaking the danger in Grantham's voice.

Blood cold, Sybil watched wide eyed as Lords and Ladies best replied in the calm manner only she possessed. "I hoped it would blow over. I didn't want to alert the gang when Sybil might still wake up."

She couldn't take this. She might be willing to risk her own life, but there was no way Mary would take any blame for this. She had to save her somehow. _Lie_ Sybil, say something! "She hasn't known long Grantham, I only told her a few days ago! I- I was in a panic, worrying about how best to tell you, and Mary discovered me."

Sybil pushed aside Tom's protective arm when Grantham turned back to her; the last thing she wanted was to appear weak. But it was Cora that spoke first, her voice shaky and timid. "Are you really pregnant Sybil? "

A nod was all she managed before the worst happened; Grantham lost it. Sweeping round the table, clicking his gun into his belt, he stopped literally feet from where they stood, almost shouting. "And all this time, you've been working for me, supposedly fighting for us and defending us, all the while allowing yourself to get seduced by a Servant behind our backs? I suppose it hasn't occurred to you that the bastard's just trying to get one over on us, or take our secrets?"

Tom pulled Sybil to his side. Mary raised her gun. Edith lept out of her seat. Carlisle ran to Grantham's side. Violet sat a little straighter in her chair. "She _was_ fighting for you, and defending you, always! I've not seduced anyone! And we never, not once, talked of any gang information! Give Sybil some credit for knowing her own mind, for wanting to stay loyal to you for as long as she could!"

Sybil was shaking now, but from fear or rage she couldn't tell. All she knew was that she had to protect Tom. The level of risk to his life right now was through the roof. The entire room may already be coming around the idea of hating her, but it was a sure thing they already hated Tom with a passion. She tried pulling him back a little, her pale fingers sinking into his ribs. "Tom, please jus-"

But Grantham wasn't letting up. "How dare you speak to me! You will leave at once! Your gang will know soon enough, and for once, I'm happy to let the fucking SS take a job off my hands! No matter how much I may want to..."

And with that he raised his gun to Tom's head. The first shot in an LL signature kill. Sybil was screaming and pushing at her husbands pounding chest before she could even think, spreading her limbs wide like a shield. "Oh, Grantham! Please, he's going, he's going, he's leaving this second! Tom go! _Go_!"

Her plea was met with a flash of defiance in Tom's icy eyes as he shrugged her resisting body from his own, maybe by accident, maybe on purpose, placing a palm to her gradually straining stomach. "If you think I'm going to leav-"

Sybil was about to pound her scrunched fists against Tom in desperation when Grantham advanced on them once again. It was the first time Sybil had noticed how far away they had moved from the door, the exit, their escape. She held in a sob and turned it into defiance as Grantham stopped infront of her. "This is ridiculous! Madness! How could you-!"

"Sybil." The room went silent at the sound of Violet's voice. Matthew let his gun fall. Evelyn took a few hesitant steps toward the table. Isabel refused to remove her gaze from her boss. Sybil subconsciously ran a palm to Tom's face, her thumb stroking along his jaw then lip. Keep him calm. Keep him calm. Keep him calm. Fuck _that_. She needed him to keep _herself_ calm. "What do you have in mind?"

Somehow Grantham had found a knife. And somehow that blade found the table. "Violet, this is hardly the time-!"

"No!" Violet remained seated, but as she spoke to Grantham, her eyes, never, not for one moment, left Sybil's. And Sybil was left feeling that she should not, _could_ not blink. Like staring down some sort of predator, to lose this connection could be the end. "She must have something in mind. Otherwise, she wouldn't have summoned him here tonight. And after all, no one in their right mind would go against Lord and Ladies without some sort of plan. Not to mention doing so for the love of a Servant."

Breaking that burning eye contact, Sybil allowed herself to glance at Tom, who, though she wasn't surprised, was already looking down at her. She tensed her fingers around his arm. "You've got to let me go Tom, I'll be fine." Then, because they were close enough for her to be able to. "I love you."

He set his jaw, slanted his eyes to the floor, but she knew he would know it was pointless arguing. "Alright."

Walking back to the table, fighting down another shudder of pure terror as her and Tom's contact was broken, Sybil pressed her palms to the wood, her fingers leaving steamy prints on the gloss. Take _control_. "Thank you, Violet. Yes, we do have a plan. Tom's been looking into Ireland's gang world, or lack thereof. And well, they're aren't many with much power. None in charge anyway. So, we've been thinking that we'll take our knowledge and set up home there. Try to make a go of moving our life here, over there. We aren't doing it to protect ourselves from you, or Satan's. We just want Ireland to start a new life, that's all. I'll stay until we're properly sorted, if that's what you'd prefer? I don't want to cause any thunder. I accept you won't want this to get out. But after that, I'll go to Dublin."

A stretch of silence followed, and Sybil took the time to lock eyes with as many people as she could. Mary, who had taught her so much in this life. Isabel who had been a friend as well as a gang fellow. Matthew, who she had once harboured a crush for. Cora, who seemed to have something to say. "You'll live with him? Even though he's married?"

For the first time all week, Sybil laughed, a mad, erratic laugh maybe, but still a laugh. How was it this topic could arise again in this moment; Tom always wore his ring, and chastised Sybil for not doing so. Sliding her hand into her jeans pocket, barely believing that she was finally going to do this, she drew out two metal rings. Allowing them to clang to the table, she didn't look up as she slipped on her diamond studded engagement ring, but when she went to slip on her wedding ring, she found she couldn't. It was the same feeling as trying to push a north and south magnet together, that force, that resistance. It took one sideways glance and Tom was there, at her side, looping the gold over the bare, awaiting skin. A few weapons twitched, a few eyes narrowed, but nothing of too much danger, _yet_. "I'll live with him, because _we're_ married. We married in Ireland not too long ago, so we're quite set. And- And I was thinking of training as a nurse again, like I was before joining the gan-"

Carson's entrance bullet was deafening, but the screams and shouts that followed were not. Without realising, Sybil had flung herself into Tom's arms, burying herself into his shoulder, her limbs locked around his waist. But then Tom was stumbling backwards, pulling her with him, her feet dragging and tripping across the floor. He was shouting something, something about her being pregnant, but her ears were ringing too loudly to be able to make any sense of why. All she knew was that she was being pulled tighter, even more roughly away from the sudden danger and then- Silence.

Sybil blinked. In one eye was darkness, the black of Tom's tie, in the other was a scrap of light, seeping in from the room surrounding. After a few more of these flashing flutters, she gently pulled away from Tom, well, as much as he would allow her, to look apon the scene around her. But the moment she saw, the moment she registered Carson and two SS men, she turned back into the safe darkness of her husband once more.

o o o

They could take him. That was fine. They could do what they liked to him. He didn't care. But Sybil... they had to leave Sybil. Anything they did to her would hurt him far more than the worse form of torture. He had to stop this. He had to make sure she was safe. She _had_ to be safe.

Grasping the warm bundle that was his everything in his arms, Tom sucked in a breath of air, his eyes focused on the three new arrivals. "Carson, I can explain. I will, but please, you can't hurt..."

His voice failed him when Grantham, peering briefly at the hole in his ceiling, strolled forward to grasp Carson's hand. The hate between the two men was obvious, eminated from them like the thickest grey smoke, but for once they were united; they had both been betrayed. In the worst possible way; by one of their own. "You got the message?"

"Why else would I be here. The company?" Carson turned to Tom, but only after meeting every pair of hate filled eyes staring at him from angle of the room. "To me, the thing that is worse than death is betrayal. You see, I could conceive death, but I could not concieve betrayal."

_Malcolm X_. Tom shook his head of his untimely thought. "Carson, don't listen to him, let's just go the Abbey, we can expl-"

"I won't allow it! I will not allow my gangmember to throw away her life! Sybil stays, now get the fuck out of my Casino." Grantham clicked his fingers then, and both Carlisle and Evelyn were at his side in an instant.

Tom was gradually losing every drop of hope in his body. He had to tell Carson everything, but he could kill him, could kill Sybil. But if he went alone, to protect her, Grantham would have her. Every- drop- of hope. He sagged in a sudden bout of defeat as Sybil broke free from his hold, and personal experience told him that that look in her eye, full of fire and determination, did not bode well for the reciever of her wrath.

Tom reacted just quick enough to grasp Sybil's flailing arms. He knew she meant no harm, but there were a dozen gun wielders in the room, so he wasn't taking any chances. "You can fight it all you like, Grantham, it won't make any difference!"

"Oh, yes, it will." Tom's blood ran cold at the threat in Grantham's voice, but all his efforts were being put into keeping his wifes sudden rage in tact.

She was crying though. Her voice growing deeper and huskier. He hated when she cried. "How? I don't want your money anymore and you can hardly lock me up until I die! I can promise you one thing, nothing will change! No matter what you try to- _Tom!_"

So hard had Tom been concentrating on protecting his wife from aggravating the most powerful men in London, he had forgotten to watch his own back. The punch to the jaw and the knee to the groin had come as quite the agonising surprise. Being torn from Sybil was like being torn from life. He wanted to shout, to fight, but the further he was dragged away, Thomas and John clamped to his arms, the more he felt defeat drown him. Never, _ever_, had he felt such a surrender wash over him.

"Tom! Stop, please Tom!" She was his life now, and he was leaving her behind, leaving his hope, his passion, his heartbeat and pulse. There was no way around this. They had tried, _so hard_, to make this work. And now? Now he was being hauled toward an almost certain death and she- she may have the chance to carry on without him...

Yes, Sybil could overcome this. Sybil could survive. Sybil didn't need him.

He didn't struggle. He didn't protest. He didn't even call out her name one last time. No matter how badly it killed him not to.

And when she came hurtling after them, restrained by Edith, sobbing and crying out his name as he was forced into the back of the awaiting Bentley, he didn't even look back.

_For the love of Downton, Please Review ^^_

_Oh my word, what a night! Was so desperate to get this done before Downton started, but failed (hence the late update). But my, my, wasn't the episode fantastic. More like DownTOM Abbey if you ask me...  
><em>

_Anyway, I hope you enjoyed part 1 of the big reveal, their journey has a way to go yet._

_Monday hunnies..._


	27. Viva La Vida

_Chapter Song - Viva La Vida by Coldplay_

_'Shattered windows and the sound of drums, people couldn't believe what I'd become'_

_. . . . . . . . . . _

"You asked for this Sybil, you can hardly complain."

Sybil felt her jaw lock in disgust at Mary's words, and for good measure, gave the door one last, pointless shove before sliding down the wall into a slumped, but not yet defeated heap. Speaking through her clenched teeth, palms pressed to her crinkled forehead, she allowed herself a moment of discomposure. "I'm sorry, but do you ever recall me asking to be separated from my husband, torn from the person I love, to be left without a fucking clue as to whether he's de- dead or alive? No I don't think you ever, _ever_, heard me say that!"

Mary's pair of black paten, Christian Louboutins clicked past Sybil's huddled position on the cold, bathroom floor; Sybil's prison. Two days had passed since Tom had been taken by Satan's Servants, since her husband had been dragged off, not even seeming to care that he was being to led to death. But he was the lucky one, in her mind anyway. He knew what wrath awaited him, she on the other hand was stuck here, torturing herself with thoughts of his pain, of their lost future, of all the mistakes they had made. Forced to remember every memory they had shared, locked away in Grantham's Downton suite, held against her will until she gave back her loyalty.

"Actually_ I did_ hear you say it." Sybil's skin bristled at the sound of Mary's considering sigh. "I think it went a little like, _You can hardly lock me up until I die._ Yes, that was it."

"You know I didn't want _this_ Mary!" Without thinking Sybil flung her arm out and threw a metal soap dish across to the room, which Mary, in a way only she could, caught it and placed it gently on the window ledge.

The damn was broken none the less. As punishment for her secrecy, for not revealing Sybil's deception when she could, Mary had been appointed Sybil's guard, and as such, was very much a prisoner herself. And having two such strong, agressive, passionate, fierce women suddenly confined to one another's shame and disloyalty had begun to choke them with every passing hour. Colds looks and unspoken words were simply not enough to ease the tension any more.

"I tell you what you did want, to be a rebel, to get a fucking reaction! I told Grantham the moment he took you on all those years ago that you were incapable of living this life, did you know that? I told him you were just a little princess wanting to upset Mummy and Daddy. The good little Uni student turned gang girl in an attempt to do a little bad on her family! I told him you weren't made of the strength to be a true LL! And could I have been proved more _right_?"

Sybil had sprung to her feet long before Mary had spat their bosses name, and as such was prepared with a comeback, advancing on her gang fellow as she never had before. She hoped that her anger shadowed her hurt; had she really never belonged to this life? "Not made of the strength? Not- made- of the _strength_? Are you forgetting everything we've been through Mary? There wasn't a job on earth me and you couldn't do at one time! But that aside! I might have told Grantham a lie, told him that you only knew for _days_, but you've known the truth about me and Tom for _so_ long. You were the fucking bridesmaid at my wedding the other week, or have you forgotten?"

"Don't you dare start this!" Mary's eyes were so close to her own now that Sybil would only have to jolt slightly to head but her. "I hoped, I always hoped you would change your mind. God, what is a marriage these days? A bloody step toward divorce that's what! I never believed it would last! I just wanted to let you play out your stupid little fantasy until you realised where you really belonged! But no, _no_, you fail to fucking mention you hadn't had the Irish bastards baby aborted!"

Sybil ground her teeth so roughly she heard the grit like sound echo in her ears. "Jesus, you've had all the time in the world to turn cold on me, to hate me, to tell me I was making mistake! So why in Gods name are you choosing now to tell me you never approved of me? Why are you choosing now, the moment I couldn't be any lower even if you threw me down a hole to tell me that everything I want, everything I chose, was all just a big joke to you?"

The peach tiled room erupted in a sea of heavy breathing and disbelieving huffs. But all went silent with Mary's next, quiet, solemn words. "I don't hate you Sybil. You're right, we've been through too much together for me to hate you. I just- This life, our gang, is everything anyone could want. The money, the power, the excitement. And you're giving it up, you just gave it up, _us_ up, for the enemy. Yes, I told Grantham I disapproved of you in the beginning, but I changed my opinion over time, I thought I had been wrong. But I'll never forget the moment I discovered those tapes in Rosamund's. Everything I thought you had become just- just gone. And now- Now..."

Unable to bear the overflow of her own fury and Mary's disappointment, Sybil sat down hard on the edge of the bath. She felt a little embarrassed by her tears, but they were hardly atop her long list of worries right now. "I love him Mary. You're right, I'm giving up all a person could ever want at the risk of death and failure. You don't understand, because the man _you_ love is who you're _meant_ to love. We all know how you feel for Matthew. But maybe you're right, maybe I _am_ weak. I couldn't stop myself falling for him. The moment I fell in love with him-"

"-you were lost forever?" Mary didn't wait for Sybil to confirm her entirely correct assumption. "And I don't love Matthew. Last time I checked it was Carlisle I've been screwing, not Matthew."

"You do Mary." A brief smile passed between the two gang members as the cloud of rage dispelled into the air. The two gang members who were slowly beginning to realise their tie had become more than that of alongside criminals. But before Sybil could utter any sort of joke or comment of disgust at Mary's confession about Carlise, the wobbly glass door was flung open.

"Good evening ladies. Sybil, still a traitor? Or have you managed to come to your senses?"

o o o

"Tom, I know it wasn't easy last night. I never thought for a moment Carson would issue you another beating."

Blinking at the sudden rectangle of golden light, Tom's body would have collapsed from relief had it not been strapped to a chair. Hours and hours had passed since he had last seen light, and even that light had been shaken and blurred with every punch and kick to his already bruised and bloody self.

Using his voice for the first time in those hours; his vow of silence only breaking due to the desperate need for some sort of help, Tom croaked out a single word. "Anna?"

"Shh, would you." The light faded, the door had been closed. Trapped again. "I think you'll hardly be surprised to find I'm not supposed to be he- _Shit_."

Grinning as though he and Anna were sharing some sort of private joke, Tom rubbed his bound wrists together, wincing as the dull pain gripping his pulled tight shoulders, and lifted his head to the blue light of the raised phone. "That bad huh?"

For a moment his blonde ally didn't reply, but before long she was nodding, though she seemed reluctant to. "Yes Tom, you've certainly taken a beating alright."

A beating was an understatement, they both knew it. A better term would have been a battering, a thrashing infact. He could feel every point of pain on his body as though it were being afflicted anew. His eyes were most definitely bloodshot, and he could barely see through one. He could imagine it now, purple and black, riddled with darkened veins. His wrists, tied together with a plastic stap, were cut through from those first few hours of fruitless struggling. He couldn't see them, bound behind his back as they were, but he could feel the red raw skin fine enough. Could picture the way the plastic would be settled into the glistening, red wounds. He couldn't be sure, but during the painful ordeal, he was pretty convinced he may have lost the tip of his little finger, but the kicks to his knees and the crack to his jaw had numbed _that_ point pain at the time. Blood had congealed along it's rippled journey from his mouth to his chin, but his useless hands had been unable to wipe away the thick, clogged matter...

"I look like a fucking mess don't I?" Anna simply crouched before him, her gentle hands on his throbbing knees. "Eh?"

Rubbing along his thighs in a brisk fashion, his saving angel whipped behind him. "Would you believe if I told you I'd seen worse?"

"Oh I believe you, trust me, I've seen worse too. But whenever I've seen worse than this I knew the victim didn't have long lef-" Unable to talk any more due to a glob of saliva and blood gathering on his tounge, Tom spat roughly, the remnants of the feeble action dribbling down his stubbled jaw. "Sorry."

"Don't be. Now- This- This will hurt-" And from the sound of Anna's tensed, bracing voice, she was probably going to be right.

"Argh!" The feel of plastic being torn from his skin was almost as bad as it had been having it cut in. Twisting his hands infront of his face for the first time in days, Tom almost laughed; he _had_ lost the little finger nail. "Great."

Every muscle, every bone, every sinew of his wrecked self ached, but when Anna returned infront of him, he readied himself for some sort of action. "Now I know you're not stupid enough to think I'm setting you free. I can hardly imagine you making a quick sprint out of here, can you?" Tom smiled, then pushed his lips together at the grim thought of blood on his teeth. "But I can't let you sit around here like this any longer. I'll take you to the toilet quickly, you must be desperate!"

"I am now you mention it. Wasn't really thinking of it." Lie. A complete lie. But he had refused to degrade himself any further and die, not only bloody and beaten, but with wet jeans too. Using the back of his hand to finally rid himself of any clotted blood or gathered saliva, Tom looked deep into Anna's eyes. As best he could with one good eye anyway. "Thank you Anna. I know I've betrayed you too, so I can't think why you're doing this but- Well, no complaints."

His saviour bowed her head. "Believe it or not, I have sympathy for you. Yes, I hate the LL's, I do, I always will I think. But you can't help who you fall in love with, I know that. And if I'm honest, I feel sorry for you. Sorry that the love of your life is who she is."

Not wanting to diminish Anna's act of mercy, Tom continued to show gratitude. "Really though, thank you. I could have walked away from Sybil in the beginning, whether I loved her not, so thank you for helping me."

"Oh Tom, look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn't do it all again." He did, and he couldn't. Anna smiled, a sort of warm, sorrowful smile that finally brought back to reality the situation he was now in. "Now Tom, I'm not sure what Carson is going to-"

"He's going to ask that Tom come down to the restaurant." Tom winced in pain as he raised his head to the sound of John Bate's voice. That beautiful golden light. Going, going, going, _gone_. The icy blue glow was only just enough.

"John!" Anna stumbled in the dim hazy light toward her partner. "I couldn't let him sit here any mo-"

Tom squinted with his one good eye at the scene in front of him, not yet able to get to his feet. "It's alright. It's only the same as me not being able to carry out the beating."

His voice erupting in another thick growl, Tom nodded up at John. "Thank you, for that, really. I know what it must have cost for you to have refused Carson's orders."

John edged forward, palm out and gripped Tom's wrist, pulling him to his feet in one quick heave. "It's alright. I didn't get a bad a beating as you. Well, none in fact, though I doubt I'm in Carson's good books for it."

Lights, little white- No, _coloured_, dots and swirls swam infront of Tom's vision. "Really John, I appreciate it. Though Thomas didn't do too bad a job on his own. Especially when Sarah joined in for a bit, that was quite the treat." Noting the grim look on John's face as his eyes scanned him up and down, Tom tried to get to the matter at hand. "So, Carson wants me?"

"Yeah, down in the restaurant."

"Do you- Do you know what he wants?"

John shook his head in reply. A public execution seemed a little medieval. But this _was_ gang world. Swallowing loudly, and painfully, Tom held his head high and stumbled with strength out into the corridor. With each step he could feel that little tap on his head, the one he had spent all his hours locked away trying to ignore. Tap, tap, tap. But it was insistant. Tap. No he couldn't. Tap. Don't think of he- No. Tap.

Gripping the bannister with all the strength he could muster, Tom pushed his bruised and bloody forehead to the wall, allowing one weak, traitourous tear to drip, burning like fire, down his face. "Oh Sybil."

o o o

"Your threats are hollow, don't you see?" Sybil ran a palm across her sweating forehead. The tension, not to mention the fear and danger, in Grantham's office was stifling. "I won't be safe in London? I won't be welcome back home?" How do I make you understand? I couldn't care less! I hate to be this way Grantham, I do, because you've been so good to me, and I've broken your trust, but I can't care anymore. Not when my husband, the father of my child could be dead and buried!"

For a long moment, Grantham simply stared over his desk at Sybil, as he had done so many times before. Giving orders, listening to information, but never to a traitor. She stirred slightly under the weight and flaming anger in his eyes. But it turned out Tom had been right, Grantham would not touch a pregnant woman. He had made such knowledge clear since he had forced her into taking a test to confirm, and so she was protected with a veil of false confidence. She thought about the test for moment. She hadn't been able to look at the positive result, the pain of knowing that her and Tom's baby was already having it's life destroyed before birth was not another worry she needed on her mind.

"I do hope I'm interrupting something?" The sound of Violet's voice stole both Sybil and Grantham from their thoughts.

Circling his desk in such a predatory manner that Sybil placed a protective palm to her stomach, Grantham approached Violet. "I only wish you were, but I seem to be getting nowhere. Have you seen Cora?"

Eyes forward so as not to be the target of two hate filled stares, Sybil locked her sight on Grantham's patterned carpet. How many times had she paced these floors? In excitement for a job, in hope for praise, in fear of a scolding. "She's fine Grantham, she has Edith guarding her at this very moment. Now, Sybil-" Holding her baby bump tighter at the sound of her name falling from the LL matriarchs voice, Sybil raised her gaze. "This sort of thing is all very well for Satan's Servants, them being so undisciplined. But for Lords and Ladies, it can prove very weak and improper. I will not have my gang ridiculed and embarrassed by some forbidden affiar. And while I am sure this Servant has his virtues-"

"Violet, do not sink to her level!" Grantham's words stung Sybil in a way she had not expected in this moment. She had once gloried in the power of this man. But having it turned against her had always hurt.

"Well, no, no." God, that gaze. So peircing, as though searching her soul. For a fleeting second Sybil felt her blood run cold in fear, before quickly remembering her next several months of protection. "He's a good driver, I hear? Well, that's what the rest of the gang have told me."

Finding her voice for the first time in Violet's domineering presence, Sybil pushed up from her seated position. "Yes, he is. He's an amazing driver, that's how he was recruited. Carson, he-" She had crossed the line in mentioning the enemy boss, Violet and Grantham's twitching palms were enough to tell her that, and so she stopped. But the sudden stop gave her a moment to the consider the brief weightlessness talking of Tom had offered her. _Oh Tom_. No, now was not the time to break. Now was the time to make things clear. "Look, I- I know you want me to change my mind, to swear loyalty to the LL's again. And I- I wish I could. I wish I had met some LL member who made me happy, who could give me everything I was missing in life, who made me as whole as Tom does. But- But I didn't. I found him, a _Servant_, and there's no going back. So in response to any attempt you're going to try to make to convert me, I will _not_ give him up!"

With every word from Sybil's lips, Grantham had hitched a level higher in anger. "Don't you dare to talk to us in such a way! How dare you be so disrespectful!"

Sybil refused to budge, but was undeniably relieved when Violet placed a calming palm to Grantham's shoulder. "No, she's not being disrespectful, just wrong. Probably hormonal, disorientated. Perhaps it's best to lock her away aga-"

"No! No _please_!" The thought of being locked away again, without any sort of chance to find Tom was enough to have Sybil beg. "Look, please, this is my offer: I will stay as long as you want to avoid the impression I've abandoned the LL's, I don't want to ruin the reputation of this gang. I do hold some sort of feeling for my past you know! But then I'll go to Dublin and start my life, my new gang, with Tom-"

A harsh, false laugh erupted from Grantham as he pulled a large cigar from his pocket. "Out of the question. You really think I'm going to not only let you go, but let you go to start a competing gang? How dare you undermine me in such a way!"

Clutching her racing heart in one hand, and the cool edge of Grantham's desk in the other, Sybil bowed her head. "I promise, I swear, that is not our intention. But me and Tom, we want a life together, and this- this is the only life we know. I have a child to consider now Grantham, I want what's best, and I know that this, this life, is what I'm best at."

Her utter honesty seemed to have silenced the bosses for a moment. But even in their considering quiet, nothing could prepare the three people in the room for Edith's entrance. Nor her reasoning. She entered without knocking, an action in itself that rang alarm bells to anyone who knew the importance of knocking on the bosses door.

"Grantham, Violet, I- I think you should see this." Sybil noted with a heavy heart how Edith refused to meet her eye. Their bond, it seemed, had been lost. Did Edith think like Mary perhaps? Had she believed her love for Tom a fleeting moment of rebellion? Did she think their marriage a sham? Apparently so, as their friendship had been dropped the moment danger had hit home. Storming through his own cloud of smoke, Grantham snatched a small package from Edith's quivering hands. "It just arrived, adressed to you, but it had this note. And the note isn't addressed to- to you."

Having little care about Edith's delivery, apart from the fact it had given her a moment to pace of the sudden surge of sickness she felt, Sybil closed her eyes to the utter chaos around her. She rubbed her hand vigorously over her hard stomach. Murmuring so only her and her little bump could hear, Sybil dipped her head. "Don't play me up now baby. Mummy could really do without throwing up on the nasty man's desk. Oh Tom, where are you darling? I want you so much Tom. I need you, I'm so scared."

In her wishing and desperate pleading, Sybil had failed to notice the utter silence of the room. But after a while, the compressing quiet forced her eyes open. The sight she was met with was not unexpected; Edith hovering by the door, Violet and Grantham huddled over the note and package. But what _was_ unexpected, was their slight look of worry. What on earth could scare the toughest gang in London?

Sybil felt her feet move of their own accord when Grantham beckoned her over with one swift wave. "What is it?"

"You tell us." His voice was no longer threatening, though there was a hint of danger, but more confused, uncomfortable even.

Reaching out a sweaty, glistening palm, Sybil accepted the package, which she hadn't realised until now was a book. A play in fact. A very famous play. Romeo and Juilet by William Shakespeare. And stuck to the front of the package, on a very basic post-it note, was a swirled _M_ symbol. The same symbol often assisted with that of the Scorpio astrological sign. And then it all clicked, and Sybil felt a stunned smile tug at her face as her question was answered._ What on earth could scare the toughest gang in London?_ Why, the toughest gang in America, of course.

"Monroe." The name of the American gang Don passed her lips as barely a whisper.

But it was enough for Grantham. "You've-? How-?"

For the first time, perhaps in all her years as gang leader, Violet chose not to enquire, the fear evident in her voice. "No, don't, don't. Don't say anything you may have to retract."

Laughing like she would never stop, giggles gripping her sides, Sybil pressed the book tight to her chest, scrunching the little note tight in her fist, and almost missed Grantham's next words; her dismissal. "Know this, there will be no more money, I'm taking everything from you. From here on in, your life will be very different. You are an enemy of this gang."

"Well, bully for that!" Almost weeping with relief now, Sybil kissed the hardback with an audible, click sound. "I didn't want things to be this way Grantham, I promise, you did so much for me. But I have to fight for myself now, not for you."

"Go."

Sybil was about to fulfil that last request when a though dawned on her. A dark, risky, dangerous thought. But a good one none the less. Turning back to a stone faced Grantham and Violet, Sybil opened her palm to reveal the note. "Actually, I may be done fighting for you, but that doesn't have to mean I can't have _you_ fight for _me_."

o o o

Tom's eventual entrance onto the restaurant floor had been met with many gasps and insults. Someone laughed. Probably Thomas, slouched back on his chair, feet on a table, rolling his fist in his palm. The rest of the room simply stared at the wreck that just a few days before had been their loyal, fellow gang member. A traitor now.

He may not be sure if it had been Thomas who had laughed at his sorry state, but he was sure as anything, even through his fuzzy eyesight, that it was he who spoke next. "Regretting it yet? Was she really that good a fuck that you were willing to sink this low for it?"

Refusing to give into Thomas's baiting, Tom stood a little straighter, surprised by the strength he had managed to retain in his legs. "We should've spoken out long ago. Sybil and I were only married recently, we've been together far longer, much longer than you realise, you _fucking_ prick."

His insult and revelation combined in an all over attack on Thomas and the rest of Satan's Servants, but before any of them could retort, or worse, the gang boss himself entered the room.

Feeling more vulnerable that he had ever felt in his life; what with his battered body, blurred vision and weak senses, Tom turned to the sound of his ex-bosses voice. "Have you no shame?"

Beaten. Broken. Separated from the love of his life. The love who he had decided to let live her life alone, Tom had little to lose. "I'm sorry you feel like that, Carson. You're a good leader, always were, and I'm grateful to you. But no, I have no shame. In fact, I have great pride in the love of that young woman and I will strive to be worthy of it."

Heaving up a pool of blood and watery vomit in reaction to the sudden blow to his stomach, Tom strained his ears to hear Carson's cool, cold words. "I will not disgrace myself by discussing the topic, and nor will anyone else. The story of your illicit, dirty affair with _that_ woman will not be discussed on my territory. Now, I've called you down here to discuss your future."

"Or lack of, more like."

"Yes, thank you Thomas." Carson tore his eyes from Tom for a moment. "Please leave the talking up to me."

"L-" Another glob of frothy pink blood. "-Look. You're going to kill me. I know that. Jesus, why you haven't done it already I don't know. I suppose you just want to put me through more torture. But I can tell you now-" Straightening up to his fullest height, catching the darting eyes of Anna, Tom addressed the very people he had once considered a type of friendship group. "-I do not regret anything. I'm sorry to have done this, but if you count the amount of time I've been in love with Sybil and the amount of time I've been a Servant, well, I've been a traitor for the majority of my membership."

Carson nodded, his lips forming a disgusted grimace. "Please. I have asked for silence and silence I will have."

_P-L-E-A-S-E Review ^^_

_For some reason I got really disheartened this week with writing and felt tempted to put this story on hiatus for a little while. Even though we're so close to the end! However, with a few reviews and Tumblr posts my inspiration was restored! And here is the result!_

_Won't say much as it's very late and I have work tomorrow (Urgh, delightful)_

_Next week... Maybe... If I don't go all gloomy again xD No really, next week..._


	28. Another Way To Die

_Chapter Song - Another Way to Die by Alicia Keys ft. Jack White_

_'Another girl with her finger on the world, singing to you what you wanna hear'_

_. . . . . . . . . ._

It was taking every minuscule cell in Tom's body to keep upright. His head was swimming, dizzy from his past beating and fresh blow to his stomach. The fact that Carson had just asked for silence couldn't be any more of a blessing; speech had run out the second he revealed the length of his and Sybil's treachery.

He had found it odd that Carson hadn't killed him, _yet_, but now that the boss was about to make some sort of great speech he wasn't surprised. To simply kill and torture wouldn't be enough, no, an example needed to be made, a lesson taught to the Servant's all staring with stunned intensity at the powerful and broken men before them. But what did surprise him, well, confused _him_ in fact, were the next words from the Satan's boss mouth.

"It seems this traitor here-" _Here_ being punctuated with a firm clap to Tom's already shuddering shoulders. "-has a bit of a fan club."

Feeling the painful tugs to his muscles like a crippling whip, Tom raised his head slightly, a string of slippery red saliva dangling from his lip. Fan club? _Fan club_? Did he mean S- No, don't think her name, don't break again. But then what? Fan- Oh, he knew about his and Syb- about the plan. The gang, their gang... "They're no threat Carson, we never intended to be a threat, we're not trying to chall-"

"Not a threat?" Tom braced himself for a blow that did not come. "The Monroe Clan aren't a threat?"

"Monroe?" The name sounded odd coming from Tom's bleeding mouth, the R becoming a distinctive W sound. "I don't- I don't know anything about the Monroe clan. Not more than basic knowledge anyw- _Fuck_."

This hit had been a simple fist to the ribs, but in all honesty, even the dig of a finger would make Tom wretch in agony now. "I wouldn't keep lying if I were you."

His head was swimming, drowning in wobbly lines of pain and Thomas's sneer seem to echo, yet when Tom had last looked he was a mere feet away. "Yeah, look where that's got you."

Carson snapped a warning that Tom did not make out; having slumped forward a little further, his body starting to tremble. "It seems that our American friends have developed a bit of taste for traitors. Not something I relate to, but then again, the American's often deal with things in a way I find foreign."

People were beginning to move now. Out the corner of his one good eye, Tom could see figures blurring a little, smudging in the glittering, glowing dining area. The answer to this was simple; like a pack of dogs, the gangfellows were responding to the rising anger and agitation of their leader. He almost found the strength to laugh at the fact that he was their prey.

It wasn't until Anna spoke however, that Tom realised the wolves had had their interest piqued. "What is it Carson? A book?"

Had he lost his mind? Was he losing it? Americans? Books? What was going on?

Ethel's voice now. "Romeo and Juliet?"

Shakespeare? Now they were talking Shakespeare? What was this?

Who's voice was this now? Ahh, Sarah's. "M? Oh, Monroe."

Monroe again? Why did this man, these people, have anything to do with him?

"Yes, it seems the grand American's would quite like to keep disloyalty alive. But you know what I think?" Tom was pushed to his elbows, nose squashed again the varnished wood. "I think I'm in charge. And what I say goes. So, Tom, we'll keep you alive for a little longer, keep Monroe happy, we'll act like we tried to let you live. But, oh, say you kick off? How about that? Yes, you kick off, you try to kill members of my gang. And what else can I do but plunge a blade right through your heart in self defence?"

Urgh, his head was hurting, pounding. His pulse getting louder and louder and louder. His skin was hot, burning, fire in his veins. And then... nothing.

o o o

Sybil pulled tight the laces on her boots, her favourite boots. Her jeans felt a little tight, but that was to be expected of course; what with baby beginning to make it's presence known. Her soft jumper would be a little hot whilst running, but she need _some_ sort of warmth. The body warmer would only add to that heat, but in skinny jeans there was little place else to stash a gun and knife.

Her hand shook slightly when she applied her eye liner, dark and shadowed. Her feathery mascara took less time, her confidence rising. Not her usual choice, Sybil swiped a deep, red lipstick across her pouting lips. Wrath, danger, a warning.

Gone was the Sybil of old. The Sybil scared and worried for her husbands life. What was the point in that? Sat anxious and distraught, _allowing_ the worst to happen. No, that was her no longer. Now she had risen, now she was ready. Sybil Crawley lived in gang land. Sybil Crawley was a gang boss. But more important than both; Sybil Crawley was a wife, Sybil Crawley was a mother-to-be. Sybil Crawley would not go down without a fight.

o o o

It could have been minutes, hours, days, or mere seconds in fact, when Tom regained conciousness again. And he was horrified to find he was in that same darkened room. Yet now the dark seemed darker than dark, a deeper shade of black, a never ending mass of nothing. No, it _was_ something, it was the rest of his life. He knew his bodies injuries were bad enough to cause pain and suffering, but they were _not_ enough to kill. Yet Carson had made clear his intentions, and so this dark room would be the rest of his life. All the mere days left of it.

Tom was surprised to find his hands were not bound. But then when he considered how weak he was, how his only chance for escape was to walk through the forest of hungry wolves, he wasn't too shocked any more. Rising unsteadily to his feet, for he had been flung into a corner of the room, Tom began to tracing the walls of the prison with his bloody, slashed fingers. When Anna had entered before, he had seen the room was very much blank and empty, though his focus at the time had hardly been on the décor of his surroundings.

Each step was agony, his ribs felt as though they were tearing at his insides, his skin had been coloured the shades of the rainbow. Blue, purple, red, yellow. A _mess_. Even so, he kept walking, small, square laps of the room, his fingertips never far from the wall for guidance. How had it come to this?

Stopping on what he guessed was his fifth round of the room, Tom finally allowed himself to let his true wants and feelings flow. If not now, _when_? He wanted Sybil. He had never wanted her more in his life. Just to see her face, to touch her skin, to smell her hair. Anything, even if the fleetest glimpse. Because dying now, like this, without her, wasn't what he had begun to expect. No, for a little while now he had begun to imagine growing old with her, joyful and wealthy, happily retiring from a world of excitement, passing all their fortune onto their child... Ah, the baby. God, no matter how many times since his capture he had tried to suppress that particular thought he had failed miserably. What he wouldn't do just to place his hand to Sybil's emerging bump again. To know, to _feel_, that they had done that, that they together, had made a baby. A baby he wanted to badly that the sudden tug to his heart hurt more than that of any punch. He would never know if he had a son, if he had a daughter. A blue eyed boy or a dark haired girl. If it was to be a boy, he would have wanted it to look like him, yes, he would have liked that. Would have loved to hear cooing strangers describe them as a spitting image of one another. If it was to be a girl, he wouldn't have wanted for anything. He would have loved her just as she was, could imagine her as haughty and stubborn as her mother.

The first tear he had dared to shed during the entire duration of his capture slipped from his bruised eye when the door to the room burst open. The golden light no longer brought relief, but fear, and pain; the fierce light stinging eyes so accustomed to darkness. It was these blinking, battered eyes that took longer than usual to realise who had just exploded into the room. And if Tom had been confused before, by talk of Americans and Shakespeare and plays, well, now he was entirely screwed. For the sight of Grantham confirmed only one thing for Tom; he had finally lost his mind.

"Grantham?" Even in such a situation, Tom could not help but feel embarrassment at the W for R sound that his busted lip brought. "What are you doing here?"

The door was closed by who Tom recognised at Matthew, but when the darkness engulfed, Grantham shouted out that Matthew open the door a fraction for light. What was this? Insane, he must have gone _insane_.

"Now, I haven't much time and for that I will not accept any mouth from you. Do you understand?" The gang boss tugged his cuff links roughly as he stared Tom down.

"I-" Squinting beneath his light shielding forearm, questions began pouring out. "What are you doing here? Why has Carson let you in? He's going to kill me anyway, so why do you want t-?"

"Be silent! Carson doesn't know I'm here. In case your Servant self has forgotten, I am leader of the most skilled criminal gang in London. Do you really believe I'm incapable of getting somewhere in secret if I want to? Now listen-"

Clutching his shaking head, Tom suddenly realised that this moment was an absolute God send. "Sybil. How is she? Did you hurt her? Is she okay?"

"Do not interrupt me!" But when Tom disregarded such a wish and began repeating his questions, he was pleased to find Grantham break. "Sybil isn't with us any more."

In a mere ten seconds Tom managed to fling himself at Grantham, be beaten back with a single punch then pushed up and held against a wall by a panting Matthew. Breathing heavily through the hand clamped over his face, Tom kicked and struggled with his words. "You fuck- fucking _bastard_! She was preg-! How _could_ you?"

He was a man possessed, fighting against not only Matthew but the pain riddling his body. Dead. _Dead_? His Sybil, their baby, dead? His throat tearing roar was ignored by Grantham. "Dear God, perhaps I should have chosen my words a little more appropriately. No, you pathetic excuse for man, Sybil is not dead, she is simply no longer with Lords and Ladies any more. A friend of mine seems to have an interest in her I can not explain, and as such, she is safe."

Not dead. Alive. Both alive. And safe. "Monroe?"

"Ahh, so you're aware of this matter are you? Well, I can't say I'm surprised. You and Sybil seem quite the experts on lies and secrets." Tom willed himself to remain silent, let Grantham talk, Sybil is safe, he didn't kill her, you owe him that much. "I'm here to offer you a deal. One that may benefit us both. You see, Sybil is a valuable asset to me, _very_ valuable. I trained her from nothing, made her the skilled, able, stealthy woman she is today. In fact, knowing now how long your affair had been going on, it seems I trained her even better than I thought. And I'm not willing to lose her."

A few of Tom's broken nails scratched along the wall; Matthew had yet to release him. "The deal?"

"You see, Sybil has decided that she isn't going to let you go. In fact, at this very moment, she could be on her way over here to rescue you. And as you can imagine, from looking at your current state, Carson won't accept such an intrusion."

As well as the physical pain, Tom felt sick to his stomach, and perhaps Matthew could tell, as he released him. "She's coming here? To The Abbey?"

"Yes, it seems that when I denied her request for help, she coerced Mary and Edith into your rescue. Them I do not worry for, they will escape if needs be, but Sybil, well you know as well as I that she will not back down." Tom could do little but nod in agreement. "But you could stop this."

Tom staggered toward the door, though Grantham and Matthew did not react; they knew he would not attempt to leave. "I'll do anything."

"Excellent, just what I wanted to hear. Now..." Like the business man he was, Grantham pulled his suit tight and tugged his tie into place. "I will let you leave now, I will help you escape, if you tell Sybil that you don't want to be with her any more, tell her that you realise this is a mistake, then I will let you live, and I will take her back."

What? _What_? "You want me to leave her?"

"I do. Tell her you realise now that you're ruining her life, tell her that you believe you're cutting her off from her gang, from her life. Then you can run, and she will come back to us. We'll take care of her, and the baby."

Maybe it was the mention of baby he would give anything to see. Or of his beautiful wife. Or because Grantham had finished his offer in a tone that said there was little to argue with. But Tom suddenly realised that he couldn't accept this deal. Even though it would save Sybil from Carson, would ensure his own freedom, he just couldn't tell her he didn't love her, he _couldn't_. And he wouldn't take the risk of telling her he didn't to then sneak back to her later. She might not forgive him. Her gang could kill him.

He turned from the golden light of the door to the shadowed faces of the Lords and Ladies members. "But I don't accept that I am ruining her life. Nor that I'm cutting her off from her gang. If you want to cut her off, that's your decision. But I can't do it, I can't tell her I don't love her."

Tom didn't miss the way the gang Lords smirk flickered. Or the way his hand patted against the gun shaped bulge on his thigh. "How will you look after her?"

"With respect, Grantham, you seem to think that she can only be happy in Lords and Ladies, when it's obvious that if she wanted that life, she would not be coming after me." Tom stood as upright as possible with his back aching in the way that it was. "I know Sybil more than you think you do. Yes, she'll come after me, yes, she'll put herself in danger. But she's strong, not stupid, and she won't risk our child."

"Very well." _Very well_? No, there had to more than that, surely? "I'd hoped to avoid this, but I see that I can't. How much will you take to leave us in peace? To do as I wish, to tell her you don't love her and leave."

This cut Tom deep. Money. He thought this could all be solved with money? "What?"

"You must have doubts. You can't expect her to save you. She doesn't stand a chance."

Memories flashed before Tom's eyes. Sybil kneeing him in the groin the first time they met. Sybil tearing him back from an enemy Frenchman. Sybil sat beside him as they fled to Scotland. "Yes, she does."

Grantham waved a hand as though Tom's words were buzzing around him, creating an insignificant nuisance. "Take enough to support your new life back in Ireland. I'll be generous if we can bring this nonsense to an end."

The darkness seemed to be growing lighter now. Eyes becoming accustom to the black before them. "I see. You know, your trouble Grantham, you're like all of your kind, all of the LL's. You think you have the monopoly of honour. You think you're so high above others around you, think you own London because you freely kill and terrorise. Well here's a newsflash, the worlds changing, more and more are striving for that, for power. Ha, I'm one of them. And doesn't it occur to you that I might believe the best guarantee of Sybil's happiness lies with me? That she doesn't want what you can offer any more? That she might want to make a life of her own? She won't be a pawn in your game any longer Grantham, and I do not intend to be either!"

The line had been crossed, that was clear. Grantham may want this deal, may want Sybil, but he also wanted respect; and it was obvious little was on offer. "Well! If you are not prepared to listen to reason-!"

"I'm not prepared to listen to insults!" The blood in his veins felt hot now, burning beneath his flesh.

"Then..." Grantham flung his fist so hard into Tom's stomach that he was surprised he hadn't hit the opposite wall. "I will bid you a good day. And if she does save you, you better run."

Through a mouthful of foaming saliva, Tom grinned up at a sneering, furious Grantham, hoping that the sight infuriated him further. "Oh I will, and I will take her with me that same hour."

o o o

She liked this Ferrari. In fact, once this whole God damn affair was over, she might take it as her own. Tom had the Bugatti didn't he? That machine he loved probably more than half of his family? She could imagine it now, the black Veyron and the red Enzo, side by side, on their drive. Gang members flitting in and out of the house on business, Tom making deals, Sybil checking money, both trying to handle the excitement in their lives whilst quite literally handling a baby. She wanted that, she wanted that _bad_.

"Sybil, are you paying attention?"

Mary's voice drew Sybil from her wandering thoughts, and she gave her lie with a roll of her eyes. "Of course I am. Now for the last time, are you sure about this?"

It was Mary and Edith's turn to roll their eyes. Mary didn't bother to reply, simply fondled the gun in her hand in a way that made Sybil feel a little ill. Surely no one should love a weapon of such destruction so much? Edith however sighed rather loudly and leant forward so her fingers lightly danced across Sybil's shoulders. "Of course we're sure Sybil. Honestly, do you really expect us to allow you to drive us all the way to The Abbey to then back out and leave you?"

Sybil gave a soft smile into the rear view mirror. She had been surprised that Edith had agreed to aid her. After all, she had thought their relationship ruined. But it seemed the moment Edith knew that Mary had already stepped up to the cause, she wasn't far behind. Thank _fuck_ for a little rivalry. "Well I have let you down, you know, doing all of this-"

"_This_ being Tom I take?" Mary's eyebrows quirked in her unique style.

Sybil giggled, biting her lip before remembering they were caked in rose red lipstick. "Well yes I suppose."

Spinning the car down the gradually darkening streets, the sounds of laughter in the car suddenly died. For there, a mere road away, stood The Abbey restaurant, the enemy lair. And they were about to ambush it, to attack those inside and save a traitor. For the first time since formulating the upcoming plan two days ago, Sybil smiled. Tom was in there, and if there was anything that could force her through firing bullets and waving blades, it was the thought of finding her husband at the end of it.

The car hummed to gentle stop. The three women in the car readied themselves. "Are you ready for this Sybil? You know he could be dead in there?"

Mary's words were not intended to be harsh, and Sybil gave a tight lipped nod in return. "I know he could be, but it doesn't feel that way. If he were dead, I think I would know. I can't explain it."

Edith seemed unable to take the stifling tension any longer, the sounds of clicks and zips coming from the back seat. "Are we going then?"

Sybil looked at them both. "One."

Edith edged forward. "Two."

Mary kissed her gun. "Three."

Running made Sybil feel alive. Blood rushing, heart beating, breath quickening. The utter adrenaline in her body helped too. Propelled her forward, made every step harder and heavier, stronger, more powerful. She had never intended to actually to bring out her gun, but the weight of it against her chest as she ran, quick as light, silent as a whisper, was almost too distracting. And so, with one quick movement she swiped the gun from the body warmer, using both hands to hold the metal killer to her side.

It was then that she was struck with a feeling she had never expected to feel whilst handling such a weapon. _Control_. In all the months since she had murdered Charles Bryant, any time she was forced to hold a gun the sheer power fazed her, scared her. And even then it was a rarity she ever took her gun out, the shame of her past actions always holding her back. But now, well now, holding this gun, it gave her the control to do anything. She could burst in now and save Tom as though she were simply running an errand. Could have people up against walls, people listening to her demands, hurting the people who had hurt _him_.

It was wrong to feel this way, she knew it, but it didn't make her feel any less awed by the fact she seemed to be over some of her guilt. For this was not about killing to simply kill, to do the bidding of another. No, if she hurt anyone now, it was because she needed to, because, so different from last time, she wasn't doing this for herself, she was doing it to save someone.

Like three pebbles bouncing across a lake, Sybil, Edith and Mary hit the wall of The Abbey with quick, soft thuds. Taking a moment for breath, and to appreciate the fact they had reached the walls undetected. Sybil soon came back to reality however, pressed a finger to her lips and motioned with her gun for the others to follow.

Her boots crunched a little on the pebble dashing that had fallen from the back wall, but she wasn't worried. The restaurant was open, as they had expected, and so it would be loud and excitable enough for them to sneak in the back without detection. It was only when they had achieved that that their expectations could take a turn for the worst. _Who_ knew who could be waiting inside?

Edith located the back door first. Her voice cut through the night like the Swiss army knife in her pocket. "When we go in, make sure you stick to the plan Sybil. Don't worry about our safety-"

Mary nodded fervently. "That's right. We'll deal with the SS. They might not be your enemy any more, but they are ours. Just find Tom and get the fuck out of there. They'll want him and you more than they want us-"

Sybil let her red lips curl. "I know, I know okay! God you too are suddenly very protective. It's like having two older sisters bossing me about."

Then, just after sharing a few little smiles and nods of encouragement, the three gang members burst in through the back door. All at once the worst happened. A guest who seemed to be giving one of the waitresses a rather personal tip pushed off of her and went white at the sight of the guns. Shouting something unintelligible, Sybil watched as Mary aimed a kicked to his chest before quickly getting to work and trying him up. Unfortunately the waitress had managed to slip away. Edith was on it however, giving both Mary and Sybil a wink, an extra finger to the stairs for the latter, before slipping her gun into her pocket and sprinting through a swinging door.

"Stop strug- struggling, or I will have your insides spread across this room like a firework." Mary grinned as the man fell silent. "That's perfect. Now Sybil, get the fuck up those stairs, if an SS finds Edith before she finds that girl all hell is going to break lose. And though I know I'm ending up there one day, I hadn't exactly planned for it to be _this_ day."

Sybil nodded and pressed her gun to her lips, eye widening at the sight of the red print left behind. Then as swift as a fox, she began her assent up the stairs. Her only wish at this moment is that she would find Tom alive, but she wouldn't have minded finding him without having to search, either. However it seemed she _would_ have to put herself in danger she did not mind bringing upon herself, but did for the small bundle in her stomach.

"Tom!" She kicked at a door. It swung open to reveal a dusty cupboard. She ran further down the hall, praying he was not being stashed in the basement. "Tom?" This time the door revealed a rather ornate bathroom. "Urgh, _fuck_. Tom! Tom! T-!"

"Sybil?" Rather embarrassingly Sybil's knees gave way at the sound of the Irish voice, and she had to use the wall to climb to her feet again. "Sybil, I'm here, I'm here!"

Galloping down the corridor to where she could see a door almost bursting from it's hinges due to a string of violent kicks against it, Sybil grasped her gun tight. "Get away from the door Tom, right now. Are you out the way?"

"I am! I'm on the other side of the room!" Oh his voice, she had found him, he was alive and she had found him.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Sybil scrunched up her face in a weak attempt the muffle her ears as she shot a bullet into the lock. The sound was so loud however she almost fell backward, but was saved from such a fate by a pair of arms drawing her roughly against a rather heavy body.

"Oh Sybil, Jesus, I never thought I'd see you again." She wasn't sure if Tom was crying, but she definitely was. "Baby, baby, hows the baby? Sybil, fuck-"

She kissed him with all within her. All the fear, the agony, the pain, the want, the need, the love. But soon pulled back. "I'm sorry, we can't do this now, we have to go- Oh _Tom_, what have they done to you?"

"Not much, just a bit of a beating." He winced. "I'm so glad you're here."

If there was a patch of skin on him that looked peach coloured and healthy it looked out of place. One of his eyes was swollen, his nose had somehow escaped breakage but was covered in sticky spots of black blood, the cuffs of his shirt were spun in red. "A _bit_ of beating?"

She felt her eyes welling up. No woman should have to see the subject of her undying love forced to endure this. "Darling, look, it doesn't matter right now, you said so yourself, we have go right?"

Wiping away her tears, just now noticing she had dropped her gun to the floor, Sybil ran a finger across the purple of her husbands face. "Yes, we have to go now. Mary and Edith are with me, they're helping, I promise they aren't tricking me."

He nodded, she revelled in his faith. "And after? Where are we going?"

Unable to look at Tom in such a state any longer, Sybil began scanning the area. "We're going to Ireland, there's a ferry tomorrow evening. All our belongings are with my friends. Isis is with Emma. My clothes are with Annie and Christine. I've given any important documents to my way back friend Isobel. Our personal belongings are with Alex. They all know when and where to send them. No one will think to look for my genuine friends. It's sorted."

"We should get going th-"

One shot. Two shots. Three, four, five... Both Tom and Sybil tensed, their grip on one another tightening. Dark blue met icy. Nothing could be certain now. Mary might be hurt. Edith could be dead. The police could be on their way. Satan's Servant's may go on a killing spree. Lords and Ladies might react to the fury. Sybil and Tom could lose their lives in a matter of seconds.

In fact, if there was any certainty in this world, it was that London was about to be hit like never before.

_Please Review ^^_

_I can not apologize more for the utter lateness of this chapter. My only consolation is that this draft is far better than the one I may have been able to churn out last night! And I'm sure you can all understand how my feels were a little all over the place, what with the 'next week' Downton clips._

_Anyway please review before next Monday, prevents this from happening again! xD_


	29. All These Things

_Chapter Song - All These Things That I've Done by The Killers_

_'Over and again, last call for sin, while everyone's lost, the battle is won'  
><em>

_. . . . . . . . . ._

"Sybil, you can't be serious?" Her wide, blue eyes told Tom she was. "Are you _insane_?"

He watched as she took a deep breath, gun clenched in fist to turn back to him. "Of course I'm serious, I can't just leave them, I _have_ to go and help!"

Gritting his teeth against the shooting pain in his hand, Tom lunged forward and caught hold of his wife's arm. Before she could protest, he swung her around to face him, the resultant agony in his body almost making him sick. "Syb, you can't. Look, we're safe now, you saved me, and we _need_ to go!"

There was a brief pause in which the body he held sagged slightly, and he realised, with a jolt more painful than that of his bloodied lip, that Sybil couldn't look at him. The thought that he must look as broken as he felt scared him. "I have to Tom. Don't you realise what a risk they took in helping me find you? How can I walk away now when they could be hurt? It's the right thing to do Tom!"

For a moment Tom could do little but take a few, head spinning breaths. Everything was just happening too fast. _Too fast_. One minutes he was being tortured. The next Grantham was making him deals. Then he's hearing his wife's voice. Then she's there, saving him. And now she wants to enter an almost certain bloodbath. If there had ever been a time to utter the phrase_ I need a lie down_; it would have been now. "Darling, please, if it isn't the police already it will be soon. Listen, we need to start running, listen to me, we have to _run_!"

She looked at him then, and it was a look he had come to know too well; and fear. "Run? _Run_? Tom, I am sick, so sick, of running. _Running, running, running._ I'm done with it! Do you know what I told myself before coming for you tonight? That I'd had enough! Enough! I can't take it any more, I can't run any more! I'm sick- si-"

God he hated when she cried. Forgetting his pain, knowing only that he needed to sooth her, Tom drew Sybil into his arms, wincing slightly, not only at his burning skin, but at the sound of a scream somewhere down below. Pressing his mouth against her soft hair, lips lingering, he let himself fall into the trap. It felt like falling, a long , unknown drop into the darkness; he was going to do as she wanted. Inhaling the scent of her hair quickly, desperately trying to ignore the way in which her stomach pressed just that bit too hard against his, he gave in. "Alright, darling, alright. We-"

His voice caught on words that seemed only too aware of his true desires, but Sybil knew him to be defeated. "You'll let me help them? Yes?"

Her blue eyes flickered only once from his own, clearly trying to get over her hate of his current state. "Yes, of course. Keep your gun, just give me a blade and we'll go down."

Was he really going to do this? To let himself, Sybil and their unborn child walk into a battle of bullets? Yes, he _was_. But it seemed she wasn't. "Tom y-you, you can't come with me! Look at the state of you!"

At that moment another shot rang out, closer this time, and before Tom could address the utter absurdity that had just fallen from Sybil's lips, he was dragging her down the low lit hallway, wheezing and panting at the pain in his chest. But even those muffled sounds combined with the dull thump of their footsteps seemed ten times louder in their dire circumstances. Peering around with eyes so wide they stung, Tom took note of how Sybil had pressed a palm over her mouth, did the same, and tried with no luck to open the nearest door. It was difficult not to become frantic.

"Tom, here."

The moment the door swung open both Tom and Sybil were inside, backs to the wall, holding their breath, bodies pumping blood. His body was also screaming in protest at the run he had just made, and he knew if he didn't keep his adrenaline high, he could collapse at any moment. His hand found Sybil's, she took a moment before she returned his stare. "Darling, you've got to let me come with you. I'm- This- I can't carry on unless you let me come with you. If you leave me now I don't think I'll be able to make myself move again."

He hadn't wanted to panic her, to frighten her into accepting his offer, but the shouts were building, and no matter how much he tried to hone in his ears, he couldn't make out LL, SS or those on the right side of the law. "You can't be serious Tom. Just listen-"

That was it. It was his turn to have had _enough_. Swinging around, placing both hands against the wall either side of Sybil, he pressed his nose to hers briefly. "No, no, I'm coming _with_ you."

The feel of her cool hand on his torn face had his eyes fluttering shut. "I know you are. I knew that wouldn't work, but it was worth a shot, right?"

He opened his eyes to midnight shadowed ones. And for the first he noticed. "You look beautiful. I mean, you always do, but I love this red lipstick on you."

"I was trying to be daring." He ran a palm over her almost smiling lip. She pushed the red stain onto his thumb. "Oh Tom what have they done to you?"

Slowly, so slowly, because even though it was Sybil's palm around the metal killer, the power was still slightly overwhelming, Tom slipped the gun from her fingers. "No where near as much as I'm about to do to them."

o o o

It was madness. Utter _madness_. The windows were smashed. The walls bullet peppered. Curtains were torn. Fallen candles spread licking flame along table cloths. And there in the middle of it all, were Tom and Sybil.

Sybil had never been so adrenaline riddled in her life, the hormone pumping through her veins like a liquid marathon. It hadn't been this bad when they had entered the fray a mere two minutes ago. When they had come across Mary and Edith sheltered behind a piano, Servant's Thomas and Ethel dodging around escaping guests, the restaurant still in tact. But in just over one hundred seconds, they had crawled for safety, Edith had disappeared, Mary could be heard shouting from somewhere up high, the enemy were blindly firing, and Tom and Sybil were now the ones cowering behind the once pristine white piano, still unseen by Thomas and Ethel.

Tom had shot a little earlier, but in the mess of the scrambling bodies and hidden position, they were able to remained undetected. However, when Sybil had expressed her wish for the gun, he had refused to hand her the weapon. She was grateful; no matter how much her guilt had subsided when searching for Tom, now killing just to escape herself would mess with her mind. "Tom, we've got to find Mary, please-!"

"And Edith? Do we have to bloody find her too?" His anger came in the form of blood and spit slipping from his lips.

It was then that voices could be heard; backup was arriving. But who's? Sybil pulled herself into a crouch, fully aware of the door not too far away, but also far too out in the open to reach. "No, no, Edith's gone, but we have to get to Mary, _please_."

Her husband lost it then, but for some odd, unexplainable reason, she was glad; the fight in her had finally seeped into him. "Right, that's it. I'm fucking sick of this shit. It's not ending like this. Sybil, when I say, run for that door, go and find Mary."

_No_. No, he was forgetting something. Something far more important than that of her or Mary. "And you?"

She watched as his eyes flickered toward the gun, his knuckles whitening. "Darling, I'm not you, I- I _can_ do bad things. I don't have the same soul as you. So please, go, find Mary, and I'm going to protect you... In _anyway_ I can."

"But-"

"Sybil. Take care of our baby." His lips on hers were enough to make her listen.

She stood. He stood. She ran. He shot. She saw. He didn't.

"Tom! Run, Tom come with me! It's the police!"

o o o

No matter how battered and broken his body, no matter how scared, excited, enraged and high Tom may have felt, he kept focus as he spun ridiculously fast through the streets of late night London.

"Sybil? Are you alright?" He had to shout against the rush of air shooting through his window. _Fuck_ Sarah. Who knew she was such a good shot?

Sybil came up from her crouched position beside him, pressed a palm against the bullet hole in the Ferrari window and her phone to her ear. "Edith? Are you still there? Good! No, no we're fine. _Tom_!"

Spinning down an alley and onto a low lit side road, Tom cursed himself for not having seen Thomas's Mercedes first. "Sorry, hold on!"

"No, Edith, we're fine. Just tell me what the fuck is going on, we've been driving for half an hour! We don't have a clue what's happening, or who's out there!"

Tom reached out a palm blindly, casually spinning the steering wheel with one bloodied hand, and grasped Sybil's forearm. "Tell me what she's saying. _Tell_ me!"

"Okay, okay!" He felt Sybil bat his palm away, she clearly didn't agree with one handed steering a such high speeds. "Edith talk to me!"

A few moments past. The roads were not distraction enough for Tom. His driving was too skilled to be considered an effort. "Sybil tell me what-!"

"She said almost all the Servant's are out."

Well that made sense. The moment they had escaped the police surrounded Abbey it was pretty clear that soon enough Carson was going to start a man hunt. And weren't the pursuits of Thomas and Sarah already proof of that?

"And she's being followed by someone who owns a blue Lotus."

Anna was involved in the fight? Tom felt bad. But only for a moment. His main concern right now was definitely not the safety of his former gang fellows.

"Mary's been in contact, she said there's nothing on the news. Not a single thing, can you believe it?"

He could, and deep down, he knew Sybil could to. The police were powerful, yes, and were certainly never laid back when it came to gangs or gun crime. But when it was gangs committing gun crime _against_ one another, well...

"She's seen a few police blue lighting, but she managed to avoid them."

No surprises there either. Not only were the police backing out in the hope the gangs would sort out each other, it was fairly assumable that they themselves did not want to get on the wrong side of either Carson or Grantham.

"Go now Edith, just let me know when you and Mary are safe. And thank y-!"

For a moment Tom could not understand why he suddenly felt so numb and cold. Just moments ago he had felt exhausted with pain, battling with difficulty in a body so physically tested it was barely functioning. And now, nothing. He just felt nu- Burning hot, spasms prickling his skin, agony dripping from him in the form of blood. It wasn't until his grip on the steering wheel began to falter, until he heard Sybil's scream, until he realised the deep red blossoming his shirt was pouring from his shoulder, that it dawned on him. He'd been shot.

The Ferrari was zigzagging all over the road. His vision was getting dark. Cars were beeping. Darker, black, going black. People were shouting. This was bliss, just to fall into darkness. Sybil was screaming. Blac- Sybil. Sybil, Sybil, Sybil. With the last morsel of life left within him, Tom snapped open his eyes and gripped the wheel with all his might. One hand complied, the other didn't. It seemed it had finally given out, the tear through his skin had been the last straw.

He thought he could hear Sybil saying his name. Or shouting. Or sobbing. Or screaming. But he couldn't be exactly sure. He could barely hear his own thoughts. He just kept his eyes, his hazing, light popping, eyes forward. Kept his body tense so as to fight of the pain and weakness as long as possible. He was only barely aware of the black Bentley streaking just ahead and out of sight. His drooping face rose in a brief smile; shot by his former gang boss, that's how he was going to go? No, not yet. Not until Sybil and his blue eyed boy or his dark haired daughter were safe. But it wasn't to be. He lost his battle in under a second.

o o o

Sybil rubbed her hand over her firm, slight rounded stomach. She had been crying straight for hours over Tom. Unable to keep her emotions contained any longer, just allowing her hardened, ready exterior to slip slightly, she had resigned herself to silently sobbing. She had tried to stop, but every time she did, she thought of something worse, something else to worry about. What if he didn't wake? What if Carson found them? What if they couldn't get to the ferry? And now, to add to her list of fear and misery, she had just considered the idea that all this stress and physicality could cause her to lose their baby. The tears were never ending.

Her knees ached with the strain of being crouched on the wooden floor for so long, but there was no way in hell she was going to leave Tom's side, not now, no way. So instead, she shuffled slightly, easing her palm from her stomach to wrap both around her husbands, dangling lifelessly over the sofa. For perhaps the thousandth time, she checked his pulse. Still there, thank God.

"Sybaryouther?"

Blinking rather comically slow, Sybil raised her face to Tom's, raking her fingers through his hair. "Tom? Tom, please, speak to me, say something else."

His lips moved. They really moved. "Itisoo."

And more tears. "Oh Tom, yes, it's me. Don't fall asleep again now, stay awake for me, please."

The little lamp on the side table flickered, and Sybil could have danced about the living at the sight of Tom's eyelid squeezing shut in protest. "What happ- happened? Wherear- Where are we?"

"Shh, shh, don't panic, don't worry." Sybil edged higher on her knees, practically flopping over Tom's chest in an attempt to get closer. "Carson, he shot you. In your shoulder, do you remember?" She would never forget, _ever_, in all her life. "I thought he'd got you in the chest, I almost lost it." She shook her head, ignoring Tom's wince at the movement. "The car, your Ferrari, I'm sorry Tom, but it's ruined, we hit a wall, grazed along it, the whole side of the car tore off."

Tom tried to sit then, but Sybil pressed her upper body even firmer down on his, cradling his head in her arms. "But, Satan's? The ferry? Where are we?"

"Don't move. We're not running now." A little puff of air blew through her nose as she smiled down on her now definitely concious, listening husband. "I dragged you from the car before we drew attention. I don't know how I did it, you're so heavy, I- I think the adrenaline helped. And I just took you to the nearest house, could barely believe my luck when I broke in and found it was empty. You've been on this sofa for a good few hours now. Stop moving, you'll pull your stitches!"

That stopped his squirming. "My stitches?"

"Mmmhmm." Repeating her checks of the past hours, Sybil peeled back Tom's shirt to reveal his messily, but delicately, stitched upper arm. "I had used needle and thread, but it'll be enough till we can sneak you into A and E. Oh Tom, I can't believe you're awake."

This time her sobs meant she couldn't stop his swift rise. "Holy shit, _fuck_. God everything hurts."

Still wet faced, she placed a hand to his chest. "Lay down, please, we can't go now anyway. It's too dangerous, I don't know what's going on out there. We're safer here until I can contact Mary or Edith."

Tom nodded his head, and Sybil placed the back of her hand to his fiery forehead when he gagged a little at the pain that dug all the way to his bones. "Okay, but Sybil?"

"Yeah?"

"Lay with me?"

Nodding more vehemently than was necessary to such a simple request, Sybil edged off her knees and made to squeeze on the slight sliver of available sofa. But then she watched, with a tensed jaw, as Tom grit his teeth and swung himself sideways to allow her more access. Trying not to react to his grunt of discomfort, Sybil gently, so, so gently, eased her body around his.

She sighed rather loudly in the small, cluttered living room. "We'll be fine. We'll get you some more rest, then we'll-"

"Sybil, can we- Can we talk about something else? Just for a little while." She watched, wide eyed, as he twined his bruised fingers around hers, his torn wrist pressing against her unblemished skin. "We've both been through a lot, too much, just recently, and for a little while, I want to pretend we're in bed, in Dublin."

"When the sun shines too bright in the morning?"

His ring clinked hers. "When the sun shines too bright in the morning."

Her smile suddenly felt real. "Okay, what should we talk about?"

"Our baby. We should talk about our baby." Sybil pressed her lips to his neck when he ran his shaking palm beneath her jumper, thumb gently sweeping the skin there. "Boy or girl? Not what you want, but what you think it is?"

She wrinkled her nose, lips still seeking stubbled patches of his blood tainted skin. "I don't want for it to be anything, just a healthy baby. But, a boy, I think I'm carrying a boy."

"Why?" His voice came so rough, Sybil had a feeling the full force of the past few days emotion was finally catching up on him.

She pretended not to notice. "I don't know. I mean, it's way too early for all those rumours about how you can tell. But I just feel like a little boy is growing in there."

His index finger barely had any pressure on her jaw, but she was soon leaning over him to press her lips to his. Once, twice, three times. "I think it's a girl."

"And why is that?" Her next kiss travelled to the corner of his mouth.

"I don't know. It's just whenever I think baby, I think _she_." This time their lips came back together.

Then, like Sybil wasn't out of her mind with worry, like Tom wasn't on the brink of a body breakdown, like they hadn't just been hunted for their lives, the husband and wife began to kiss with more than a little spirit. Ever mindful of Tom's fragile state, Sybil hovered above him, arms keeping her raised so she had to lean low to keep up their chain of gradually addictive kisses. She could feel his hands on her, stroking her stomach, her ribs, the breasts beneath her bra, wrapping roughly, tightly, in her hair. Breathing his name against his mouth, Sybil began to press her now smudged lips against the points of his body that bloomed in purple, in red, in yellow. A kiss to his wounded arm, a press to his bloody nose, a slight suck to his strained neck.

It was so wrong, so _stupid_, to be acting like this when they had so many more important matters to be dealing with, but the blissful oblivion brought with each touch of tongues, with each groan or whispered word was working wonders for Sybil's gradually fraying sanity and so she continued. And from the way her injured husband was steadily edging up beneath her, pressing the hardening bulge in his trousers against her, he certainly didn't seem able to help himself either. Her hand soon slipped beneath them, under his belt and into his trousers, and she continued her gentle licks of his neck as she gently ran her fingers along his length. God she needed this.

Popping open each button of his shirt, Sybil peeled the blood hardened material from his chest and began tending to those cuts and bruises covering this part of revealed skin, her soft tongue dancing over the alarming colours. "Syb- I can't- Not like this."

No, she wanted this too much. She murmured against the light hairs, some still soft, others sprinkled in red. "I'll be gentle Tom, it'll make you feel better, so much better."

He groaned a little when she lightly dragged her teeth over one of his rare uncoloured, perfectly fine looking ribs. "My body won't take it. I'm- _Hmm_- I'm telling you Syb."

"Stop feeling me up then." She giggled as they both looked down at his hands. One slipping beneath her bra, the other travelling slowly down her stomach, not stopping.

He too laughed, and much to her disappointment, pulled away. "You got me. But really, Sybil, I want this too, but I don't think I'm in a great state for that much ahh, excitement, right now."

Grudgingly, the fears and worries gradually returning with each movement, Sybil eased herself back against Tom's side. Her hand still lay beneath this shirt though, playing guard to his heart. "Well then, what now?"

If the approaching footsteps and voices hadn't been enough, the harsh raps to the door were. And the sound of said door then being blasted of it's hinges was too.

Frozen, still clinging to Tom like a lifeline, Sybil looked up into her husband's reddened eyes, and watched his mouth form his next words. "We deal with that."

o o o

Tom could feel himself growing weaker and weaker with each turn on the car, but kept his face blank, knowing that showing any form of a hindrance right now could be deadly. When Mary and Matthew had stormed in on them, armed, though, granted, unwilling, Tom knew that whatever they wanted they would get. He was just too ill to protest now, and Sybil was still safe as far as the LL's were concerned anyway, so what was the loss? It turned out their request was quite a big one; _Grantham want's to talk to you both, you need to come with us._

And so they had, and here they were, sat in the back of Matthew's Mercedes-Benz, gliding with a torturous pace up to the Downton Casino. When the grand building gradually came into sight, Sybil, who had not spoken during the entire journey, and kept holding her stomach in a way that worried Tom more than he could explain, brought his hand to her lips. "I love you."

He used their entwined fists to caress her face. "I love you too."

"It's so sad." He didn't need to ask what she meant, and didn't think she could put have explained their situation any better. After all they had been through, here they were again, back to the beginning of their downfall.

As they began their, slightly staggered on his part, walk up to the casino, he simply held her hand and trudged on. Maybe there was some fight left in him, but it would take the likes of Sherlock Holmes to find it. Crunching over glass, smashed windows allowing in a little breeze, Tom released his former gang had been rather thorough in their revenge of his rescue and of their gang homes destruction.

"Come in." The sound of Grantham's voice awoke something in Tom, and he was determined to be the first to enter the huge office Mary and Matthew were now taking guard positions outside of. "Why are you here?"

The smart suited, though slightly ruffled looking gang boss eyed up his beaten state with obvious disapproval of his being there, but also in satisfaction of his pain. "Me and Sybil, Grantham, we're a bit of a package deal if you hadn't already noticed."

His wife shuffled beside him, her eyes on Grantham's. "I think half of London has noticed that."

"Oh Grantham, what's the point in all this nonsense? Why have brought us here?" Tom remembered with a jolt then of how Sybil had told him she was sick of running, and if Grantham didn't explain soon, he was about to get the same treatment.

The gang lord eyed her with piqued interested, his fight toughened hands caressing the edge of his desk. "I suppose you're trying to go to Dublin now? Isn't that your plan?"

Again, Sybil's hand found her stomach, and Tom felt himself squirm in fear. "In a few hours or so. Tom is just well enough to travel and I see no reason to delay. Although... I do wish we could have parted on better terms, I've told you once and I'll tell you again, you've done so much for me Grantham, and I only wanted for you to accept my respect, and for you to offer a little of your own."

Grantham disregarded Sybil's plea, and Tom was about to speak up about such behaviour when he found himself addressed. "What about you? Do you want to part on better terms?"

Did he? No, not really. He had hated Grantham for over a year now, had known little else how to feel for the man, but then Sybil's last words ran through his head. She wanted them to part on good terms, so... "I do. Although, I don't expect to."

"All right."

No words came to Tom, and little to Sybil either. "What?"

Grantham's jaw locked, and his eyes darted over both his former gang princess, and the enemy who had taken her from him. "Well, it's obvious I can't stop you, I see no profit in trying to any more. I've been told tonight what you've been through, and I don't believe the world splitting could part you both."

"You could kill us." Tom hadn't meant it as an invite, but the moment the words were said he regretted them.

"Oh believe me, I still think I ought to, and maybe I will, in time, but something is holding me back. Even if only for now." Tom did not argue, and let the gang boss take a step closer to his wife. "You'll have a very different life from the one you have been living. It's going to be tough, you're going to struggle, in fact, I hope you do. But if you're sure it's what you want?"

Tom felt his body lighten when a small hand slipped into his. "I am."

"Then you may take my blessing with you, whatever that means." And then, in one swift, calculated movement, Grantham slipped a Glock from his pocket and tossed it heavily onto the desk; a surrender.

Barely believing what had just happened, Tom too slipped a hand beneath his jacket and drew out a blade he had found in his Ferrari earlier. It hit Grantham's gun with a slight tap. Sybil broke then, holding her hand out to Grantham. "Oh, Grantham. It means more than anything! More than anything!"

Tom almost toppled backward when he watched the gang lord take his wife's hand. Could this actually be happening? "If you mistreat her, I will personally have you torn to pieces by my gang."

"I'd expect no less."

_Please Review ^^_

_I know, I know, late again. I'm awful! But during editing I read one of the scenes and just thought the styling could use adjusting. Next thing I know I'm doing a full scene rewrite!  
>Just so you know, I do believe I only have one more chapter left to write. But, if inspired, I think I may have the ideas for two. Either way, thank you for being with me on this journey...<em>

_Roll on to the last Monday..._


	30. Start Beginning

_Chapter Song - Start Beginning by Nizlopi_

_'Cos I know I need you, and I know you need me too, we can all move now, we won't lose now'_

_. . . . . . . . . ._

The moment the Branson's had set foot in Dublin, Sybil had insisted they visit the hospital. Tom had taken from that that his state really could wait no longer, but when they swept through the swooshing glass doors, it had been Sybil that had flung herself forward, demanding that someone check over her baby before she shot someone. The staff had rolled their eyes,_ another frantic mother-to-be who's probably bumped into air or stumbled over her own feet_, but Tom knew different, and had offered the receptionist a very high tip in exchange for the grant of Sybil's request.

The baby was fine. Sybil was fine. Everything was fine. Well, Tom thought so anyway until the doctor asked if he would like an examination also, eyeing his utterly beaten state with a more than curious eye. If he was honest, the pain had become so normal to him now, he had almost forgotten what he must look like to other people. And so he let the doctor indulge his curiosity. Two broken ribs, a torn finger ligament and an already infected bullet wound were the conclusions. To be fair, Tom had come to those conclusions alone, but actually hearing the injuries uttered from a doctors mouth just added that... that _something_.

After a clean up, a stitch removal, a stitch replacement, an x-ray and prescription for more painkillers than were probably legal, the Branson's had been free to go. His Bugatti Veyron, in all her sleek black beauty, had been waiting outside. Neither he nor Sybil were surprised by this. They were home now, on their turf, people were watching, maybe bad people, but also their good people. In silence they had driven home. The people, sights and sounds of Dublin passed them by in an incoherent blur, and all the while Tom winced in pain at every turn, and Sybil cradled her stomach as though their child were born and in her arms.

He wasn't sure of the time, wasn't sure how long they had been in Ireland, wasn't even sure if it was sunrise or sunset. All he knew, was that they were home, and safe. Alive. How had they come to be so blessed?

His car door closed with a muted thud. "Sybil?"

She was there at his side, her hand, cold and soft, curling into his. "Come on."

Slowly, because he really couldn't manage any other way right now, Tom led his wife up the path to their front door. Then with difficulty and pain, unwilling to relinquish the hold he had on his wife, slipped his key into the lock with one fumbling hand. Stepping into the house felt different to Tom than it ever had before. Before he had been excited, exploring his new house with his gorgeous girlfriend, had been enraged, desperate for answers for his believed to be lost child, had been elated, finally having placed his claim on the woman he loved. Now... Now he was free. But tired, _too_ tired.

Dragging his shoes against one another, holding Sybil as she too slipped her boots to the floor, Tom gave a loud, thick sigh. "Do you want to go to bed? You need sleep."

Her touch was brief, meeting the palm he had laid over her abdomen, her lips fleeting to his puffy lip, but the tug on his heart lingered. "So do you."

"Yeah." He nodded, the ache in his neck almost too natural to him now. "But I want to shower first, so go, go on, get to bed. I'll be with you later."

He was halfway to the kitchen, not really sure of why he was actually _choosing_ to separate from Sybil, knowing that all he wanted was to hold her close and sleep for eternity, when she swept in front of him. Arms around his aching middle, face burying into his purple chest, she spoke aloud the thoughts in his own head. "Just come to bed with me please Tom."

About to utter his agreement, Tom suddenly felt the oddest pang of _de ja vu_ ripple through him, and drew back from Sybil. He couldn't place it, couldn't understand. What was this odd feeling of having been there before? He just couldn't focus... That was, until, he looked down. Sybil was looking up a him through the darkness, a curious glint in her sparkling, kaleidoscope eyes. A smirk spread across his face as he took a few, calculated steps backward. Then, before Sybil could question his actions, he let the words of a distant memory into the air around them. "Sybil, isn't it?"

"I don't underst-?" Her hand reached out for him for a moment, but when he put on his most honest look of admiration, it slowly lowered. "That night. When we first-"

He nodded, swinging his throbbing fists at his sides. "Your turn."

It took a few moments, but Tom had to give her her dues. It had been almost a year to the day they had first met. One of the best days of his life, despite the knee to the groin that was. But it came to her, just as it was all coming back to him. "So your name would be?"

He laughed. A blunt, disbelieving laugh. They had gone through so much since that night. So _fucking_ much. And here they were, reinacting that life changing moment as though it were all so easy. "Tom. I'm Tom."

She giggled then, the sort of laugh that said '_Aren't we being ridiculous_'. Just as they had been back then. "I don't think you want to hurt me, do you Tom?"

He was blurting out a genuine reply before he could think, the thought that she had ever felt danger from him a too disturbing concept. "I would never have been able to hurt you, ever. I was yours the moment I saw y-"

"Tom! Play the game. _Please_." He watched in fascination as she blushed at her outburst and took her bottom lip between her teeth.

A howl of wind whipped against the windows. "You're right, I don't want to hurt you."

Nervous. He actually felt nervous as his wife stepped toward him. "Me and you Tom, we're enemies, and enemies do want to hurt each other."

Enemies. _Enemies_. Why hadn't that been enough? Why hadn't the knowledge that the woman before him then, before him now, was the enemy, been enough to push him away? In his first months in Satan's Servants, he had been so sure he had chosen the right path, that bad was in his blood, that gang land was the only place for him. And then, _Sybil_. All those lessons taught, all that hate praised, that feud encouraged, and she had shattered it all. He could still remember now, down to his aching bones, of how he had felt the moment he saw her. Screwed.

His mind was running away with him now. Maybe they would always have met? Even without the gangs? Maybe he would have carried on an addicted heroin user, brought back to his health and senses by a talented, beautiful nurse? Maybe he would have stayed in Ireland, lucky enough to meet a gap year medical student sampling a Guinness in his local? Maybe things could have been easy? Maybe things could have been normal?

Maybe... Maybe wasn't enough. No, they had met in gang land, as enemies, had been through the most difficult, dangerous year of their lives, and he wouldn't change a thing. If having to go through all of that meant that he had been gifted in that one moment of meeting Sybil, it was meant to be. No other way. No questions asked.

The wind continued to howl, the front door rattled, leaves tapped and shuffled against glass. The thought that it was cold outside while they were warm and together inside, combined with Sybil's last words and suddenly intense gaze had Tom tipped over the edge. "Forget bed, shower with me, please."

"I don't believe I remember a shower." She snickered, her head down. "Because as far as my recollection goes, I then went on to kick you in the balls..."

o o o

Her baby was fine. Her husband was fine. She was fine. _Fine_. She hadn't been fine in so long she had almost forgotten the feeling. Fine felt easy, fine felt nice, fine felt foreign.

"Sybil?" Sybil snapped out of her reverie, eyes drawn unexplainably to a fray in the curtain, and turned to her husbands voice. She smiled at his half naked state, at his hands, one in his wet hair, the other cradling the towel to his waist. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, her smile growing wider at the glow of the golden light on Tom's skin. They had been in the shower for more than an hour, revelling in the comfort and cleanliness the heat and steam offered. She had washed every inch of him, wiped away every scrap of blood, massaged every lilac bruise, cleaned away all the pain he had suffered, that they had suffered, in the past few days. In turn he had held her close, kissed her longingly, touched her frustratingly, stroked their little bump delicately. He had refused to make love to her though, no matter, how embarrassingly, she had been desperate for him to, practically begged him in fact. He wanted her properly he said, when they could lay side by side, go to sleep in each others arms, safe at last.

"I was just thinking about how long it's been, since I felt like this. Since I felt fine. You see I thought-" A deep breath, an almost shaky one, was she going to cry? Blame it on the baby. "At first I thought that I hadn't felt fine since before we met. I thought I stopped being fine the moment I met you, not that I mean you made me feel bad, I just mean-"

One little tear and Tom had the answer. "You just mean that since we met it's all been pretty exhausting, more scary and draining than we realised at the time?"

"Yes, that's right, I hadn't realised how tired I was." A sigh. She looked away from Tom then, her hand reaching out to cut a line of grey between the curtains. "But, as far as me feeling fine, well... I got it all wrong. I don't think I've been fine since I took someone's life, I don't think I've been fine since a very powerful man promised me the world, I don't think I've been fine since I started university without my parents blessing, I don't think I've been fine since I lost a brother I never had. But- But ri- But right now, here, with you, I think for the first time in a long time, I'm okay."

For a little while there was silence, but Sybil was glad of it. Was glad to stay still for a moment knowing that she wasn't hiding, that she wasn't being hunted down, was glad just to _be_ for a moment. But nothing, nothing, could make her feel more right than she had in a long time than the feel of Tom's hands sneaking around her waist, his warm lips gently meeting her shoulder. She fidgeted slightly, knowing that what was coming was going to be so good, so right, so perfect, making her unable to keep still.

She closed her eyes, let her hands travel down her nightdress to lightly cover Tom's, cringing slightly as she imagined those very same hands being torn and broken. Then her husbands tongue lightly ran across the back of her neck and she lost that strand of morbid thought, instead losing herself to the sensation of a hand sliding up her body, just lightly over her breast, up into her hair, pulling it gently over one shoulder.

Leaning against the hair now covering one side of her face, Sybil sucked in a very quick breath of air when Tom began to bite gently on the smooth expanse of skin he had revealed. She almost wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him that he was hurt and needed rest, that they had all the time in the world in which to enjoy one another. But then she thought of how every other time with Tom had ever been; intense, consuming, overwhelming, and she knew then that she could not turn him away. God, if there was one thing she needed to be sure of right now, it was that everything that had gone through had been fought for a reason.

So she let him continue, lips and teeth, soft and hard, shivers and tingles all over her skin. Her eyes were closed, but her vision was not that of darkness, but of memories. Their first time. The feel of silk. The sound of moans. The taste of _him_. Before she knew it, she was facing him, letting the kisses, from his swollen lip, graze slowly, feather light along her collar bone. For a second she felt her eyes well, stupidly pricking with sharp, stinging tears; there was no way in hell she was ever going to get used to his colourful state.

She took his face in her hands, swirling her thumbs over his rough stubble. "Tom, I do really love you, you know. I mean, I've told you, so many times, but-" Soft lips crushed hers. "T-Tom, seriously-" A hand twined roughly in her hair. "Tom, please, seriously-!" Her giggles travelled with her as her husband took her to the bed as though she were a bag of pixiedust.

The weight of him upon her, hard and strong and determined was enough to silence her for a moment. As was the fact his towel had slipped away in the struggle. "Oh my darling, you can not possibly love me as much as I love you."

The tug to her nightdress had her body rising quickly, but smoothly, from the mattress, the only sounds now that of her falling thump and the soft, slow hum of lips meeting lips. "I can't believe we actually did it- _Oh_."

"Shh." His voice came as a rough growl as his searching, _finding_, hand reached the top of her inner thigh, not stopping, causing her to writhe ever so slightly against him, whimpering under his ministrations. "Shh, please."

So _shh_ she did. To a point anyway. Because within moments, she could feel her husband doing as he often did, searching for her pleasure whilst holding back his own, his fingers moving to fast, too quick, too much within her, and she was moaning, breathy and desperate. Desperate for him to stop, it oddly mattered to her that she only come tonight when he was within her. Desperate for him to continue; feeling the tight, hot, coiling build. Just- Just there-

"Tom, don't-" Her voice was almost a sob, too much pleasure, too much want. "Please- _Together_-"

Together did it, and she flung her head back in relief and expectancy as his damp hand left her, skirting up her stomach, almost clumsily against her heaving ribs and grasped her breast with urgency, need. An almost laugh escaped her when a warm tongue began trailing down the centre of her chest, then this way, then that. Any moment now, any moment- If he would just edge a little further- A little- She reached down, enveloping him in her tugging fingers. Just-

"_Sybil_." There we go.

Them, as one, was something Sybil was never going to get over, get used to. Here, in his arms, no matter how cut and bruised they may be, pinning her down as he loved her, physically and emotionally, working her over with hard lips, a gentle touch, with fervour, with patience, at the right time, holding onto the moment, was still a mystery. Still part of being together that astounded her, only second in fact, to having originally fallen in love in the first place.

An arm over her forehead, Sybil bowed upward, her free fist pulling away from Tom's loose grasp to find his hair, to pull him from the bite mark he was creating on her neck. "Oh, Tom, please just kiss me."

And in that moment, of Tom rocking smoothly, rhythmically within her, halting and rushing her breath with each bite and thrust and kiss and groan, she was struck for the first time with the awful thought that they might never have met. That their fate had not been bound to one another, but elsewhere, perhaps with another. That another plan had been written for them, in which the conclusion did not involve this perfect, wonderful, far too good moment.

Where would she be, right now, if she hadn't accepted Grantham's offer of the burglary job that night? Would she be alone, somewhere in London? Would she be on a job, would she have killed again? Would she be at home, twisting and turning in a nightmare? Would she be with another man, beneath him now? Would she be happy, or just surviving? So many questions, but all that needed answering was the last. She would not be happy, no. She would be living, and breathing, and all else that came with her wealthy, powerful lifestyle, but not one day would pass in happiness.

His back was firm beneath her fingers, and she was lucky in the fact that her husband was such a good lover she did not think of how much her nails would be burning his already tortured skin. "Sybil-" She took his bottom lip between her teeth and bit hard, dragging the plump skin downward. "This- Mmm- This has all been wor- worth it, you know that right?"

She nodded, pushing her nose up to Tom's, the slightest sheen of sweat between them. "Yes, I kno- Yes, oh yes. I mean, I know, so worth it."

His sideways grin was all it took. Had her limbs tensing, straining out beneath him, shaking ever so slightly as she clawed his back, her forehead pushing ruthlessly against his good shoulder. A little noise slipped from her lips, a contented, stuttered sigh. A few seconds passed before she felt his palm sweep the damp hair from her face, felt his thumb tilt her chin, felt his heady pressure as their eyes connected and he came within her.

o o o

He knew his eyes were closing, that they were drooping shut, but his wife, his still flustered, still ruffled wife was spread across him, irises blue and wide into his. She kept murmuring little sounds, not words, just sounds, like _mmm's_ and _ahh's_ as though she were talking to herself, and agreeing to anything that came under discussion. Every now and then she would press her lips to his chest, lean up to run her little tongue across his jaw, smooth her fingers through the hair she had successfully whipped all over.

Sweeping, what he considered to be too rough a hand, down her fragile spine, he gave into curiosity. "What are you doing darling?"

"I'm apologizing." She hummed again, not losing his eyes as she shuffled and gently sucked over one of his ribs.

"Apologizing?" Her hair was like velvet, his hand scrunched slightly as it became lost in it. "For?"

He grinned with a raised eyebrow when she shook her head, nose digging into his chest. "Not for, to."

"To who?" A slight flicker of unexplained jealously flickered through him. Apologizing for making love with him to who?

"You." Her tone seemed to indicate that should be all, but he let his confusion take command of his features. "To your poor body. You're so hurt, and then we just..."

Letting out a breath of disbelief, Tom pulled the back of her hand to his lips. "M'lady, there is so reason, no reason in this world, to apologize for that."

She didn't answer, but she didn't have to. Sometimes just a look was enough understanding. Though that didn't stop her humming, whispering unknown words to the stitched wound across his shoulder. It was then that he noticed something neither of them had ever addressed something he had certainly never thought of. He kissed the palm of the hand he still held.

"What, Tom?" Her long lashes blinked and fluttered. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, no." His lips found the reason. "Our tattoo's, what do you want to do with them?"

The brief light shimmering in through their curtains revealed a flicker of emotion on her face. "I never thought..."

"Neither did I." He had only mentioned their marks through genuine wonder of what they would do, but now, looking at his wife, he knew he had touched upon something rather deep to her. "What do you want to do?"

She drew her wrist from his grasp, so he used his now aching fingers to splay around her neck, thumb caressing. "What do you want to do?"

What did he want to do? He let his eyes wander down one of Sybil's exposed, slender legs, smiling slightly when she absentmindedly wiggled her toes. "I want to get rid of mine. I'll have it removed I think. Being part of Satan's, living the life of a Servant, that isn't- That isn't who I am any more. A Servant's life isn't for me, and for that reason, I don't want to keep any form of loyalty to it. That's gone now, I'm moving on, we're going to make something beautiful of our own now darling, keeping this-" He tapped two fingers rather roughly to his SS neck stamp. "-would be living in the past to me."

More whispered words, more kisses, more touching, but she came out with her reply eventually. "I want to keep mine, if that's okay?"

"Ha!" His eyes rolled upward in disbelief. "And if I didn't think it was?"

His wife's full lips tightened on one side at that, big doe eyes peering up at him with false innocence. "I would probably tell you to fuck off."

"And quite rightly so Mrs. Branson." Keeping up with the casual, aloof game, he stretched out beneath her, both arms coming to rest behind his head. "Now come on, why do you want to keep it? And be honest, I want to understand this."

The long, soft, entirely naked, gorgeous body of his wife sat up, straddling his hips, leaning so close that her hair seemed to trickle down his chest. Christ, she needed to answer fast, because his mind was slipping... Slipping... "Lords and Ladies, that life, has taught me a lot about myself. I'm only twenty two, and yet being in a gang has shown me a lot of life, good and bad. Mostly bad. And in that time I've met you, I've become a wife, I'm to be a mother, and all the while I was a lady." Her hand swept his own mark, then trailed over his heart. "Keeping this tattoo, well, it just reminds me of who I was, _am_- Who I am now."

Something within Tom did not agree with her reasoning, did not like that she wanted to keep a memory of a past so damaging to her. But then he considered many things at once. Had he been in the SS for three years would he have felt them a family? This was his wife, his lover, his soul mate, did he really disagree with her? If it meant so much to her, as she did to him, did it matter in the end? And before he knew it, a realisation fell into the air around them. "A lady, and a Branson?"

Tiny nails pinched his ring finger, gripping the gold band that lay there. "Yes, a Lady, and a Branson."

o o o

_"I can't believe we just did that." Tom's panting had Sybil smiling, and without speaking she slipped off of his desk, turning slowly in indication that he zip up her gathered dress. "I thought you wanted to save that for a special night?"_

_Hearing the soft swoosh of her zipper, Sybil stepped away from her husband, leaning casually to pick up her discarded thong. "You know how worried I've been that I wouldn't get my sex drive back after the baby, I mean, it's been a month, so when I knew I wanted you, I-"_

_"-had me?" Sybil winked, slipping on her stilettos, as Tom waved his hand over his suddenly untidy desk. Spilling folders, a fallen lamp, pens still rolling across the hard wood. "I'm never going to be able to explain this in the meeting."_

_As if on cue, a hard rap shuddered down the door, and Sybil, wanting to land her husband in a situation, spoke first. "Come in boys."_

_Like a heard of elephants, a group of around twenty men filed into the room, seating themselves around the grand table before Tom's desk. To an outsider it many look as though the men were sitting wherever available, but to a gang member of the Branson's, it was apparent that each man was seating himself in rank. Tom and Sybil's second in command to the direct right, their newest member, furthest away, at the far end. _

_A slight swell puffed in Sybil's chest as each member murmured greetings respectfully up at her and her husband. Some nodding, others clasping their marked hands, dark, capital B's glaring out from middle knuckles. It had taken a while, for Sybil to prove to her boys that she was just as much boss as Tom, but she had gotten there in end. She couldn't pinpoint the exact moment; maybe it was the way she often challenged Tom's ideas, maybe it was how she had been at a meeting days after the birth of their baby, maybe it was because she never gave them reason to lose faith. Anyway, all that mattered was that they tended not to check her out every time they saw her now... Well, not quite so much._

_Tom shuffled beside her, tugging at his tie, running a hand nonchalantly through his hair. Like her he had come into the role of gang boss as though it was something he had meant to do all his life. "Right lads, updates?"_

_"The Grey's are trying to move up into our territory."_

_Sybil rolled her eyes. "Let them try. As far as I remember, burning down their property seemed to work well last time."_

_"The development of the nightclub is coming along nicely, though the builders need more cash."_

_Tom grazed Sybil's lower back as he sauntered past. "No problem, we didn't start an alliance with the Monroe's for nothing."_

_"An invite arrived this morning from London's Lords and Ladies, they want to build connections with Ireland."_

_Sybil was pleased that Tom replied before she could, for her heart had suddenly found solace in her throat. "Well, that's surprising. Did they mention why?"_

_"A wedding apparently, between some members. The informant said Mrs. Branson would know."_

_A wedding? Surely not... She turned to Tom, aware of all the eyes in the room analysing her strong demeanour. "Mary and Matthew, it must be."_

_Tom's thumb ran roughly beneath his chin, his icy blue boss eyes reading hers. "Me and Mrs. Branson will discuss this in private." No one argued. "Anything el-?"_

_The door to the office was flung open then, you should always knock in the gang world, and Tom and Sybil found themselves staring at their babies nanny. "Mr. Branson, Mrs. Branson, it's the baby-!"_

_Before another word could be uttered, Sybil, Tom and half the room had jumped to their feet. The amount of weapons revealed, knives, guns, batons would have given a pacifist a heart attack. The gang loved their bosses daughter, and as she was the most important thing in Tom and Sybil's life, there was ever present the task of protecting her._

_Sybil however had not drawn a weapon, too stunned by the nurses revelation. "What, what's wrong?"_

_But neither parent waited for an answer, Tom sliding across the table, gun raised, as Sybil legged it behind him in her too high heels. The entire gang followed, and Sybil soon found herself over taken as a few of her men bolted past, desperate to give her husband back up. The journey down the hall and stairs seemed to last forever for Sybil, scenarios blasting through her mind like fireworks. Had she been kidnapped? Hurt? Threatened?_

_ But every worry fell away when Sybil reached the nursery and found her men waiting outside, panting, but smiling. __"Go on in Mrs. Branson, she's okay."_

_She didn't wait for further encouragement. "T-Tom, what, is she okay?"_

_The feeling that flooded Sybil's veins when Tom turned to her, their daughter in his arms, was like nothing she could explain. It happened often, seeing him cradling the object of their love, but it never ceased it's heart clenching effect on her. "She's- She's making noises!"_

_A laugh burst from Sybil's lips and she bolted forward, running a finger over her baby girl's eyebrow. "Noises, are you making noises baby?"_

_A gurgle. Nothing too loud, not too obvious, but there, definitely there, bubbled from their daughters lips. "Fuck."_

_"Tom, don't say that around her!" But there was too much happiness, hot and tingling, in Sybil's veins for her to really care. "Oh baby, what's that noise?"_

_A few minutes passed in a contented quiet, interrupted only by a soft noise from the baby, and the resultant squeals and swear words from her parents. It was Tom who finally spoke. But it was in a way Sybil had found new since their daughter had entered the world, as though he were in a dream, not really present in this world, but just one that habited him and his already spoiled, over protected, want-for-nothing baby girl. "Oh my Sybie, my beautiful baby, so pretty, perfect Sybie, yes, you are, my little angel."_

_Sybie. The birth had been difficult, complicated, almost the end of Sybil. They never spoke of it. Ever. The only time they ever thought of the day their daughter was born was when outsiders questioned the similarity between the names of mother and daughter. Tom, who had named their baby, always told them that he couldn't imagine a better life than one in which lived two S. Branson's, but the truth was that he thought he had lost her, Sybil, and for that he knew no other way than to bring her back through their creation._

_The thought made Sybil's eyes swim for a moment. But then she looked over her husband, the love of her life, their baby, the miracle of all they had been through, thought of their rich, powerful, safe home, and her tears settled._

_"Tom?" Her voice came stronger than she expected._

_It took a moment for her husband to tear his eyes from their daughter. "Sybil?"_

_"Let's forget the robbery tonight, the guys can handle it." Sybie's lips were so soft to touch. "I want to take Sybie on that walk, that one you took me on after we arrived here."_

_"Through the woods, over the bridge?"_

_She smiled at the memory. Ireland really was beautiful, Ireland was home, it had taken that night all those months ago for her to realise. "Yeah, I want her to see were she's from."_

_Her eyes closed at the touch from Tom's hand to her face, the cool tinge of his wedding ring. "Alright. I'll brief the guys. I'll take my pretty ladies out for the evening and we can-"_

_"We can just lie back and look at the stars..."_

PLEASE REVIEW (because it's the last time I'm going to ask) ^^

There. Done. It's over. Keep Your Enemies Closer has finally come to an end. And dear God what a journey it's been. One of late nights, numb fingers and hours and hours of fanfic consumed thought. But it's also been a journey of new friends, heart warming reviews and reason for writing.

I can not thank you all enough for your ongoing support. Every review, every favourite, every follow. All magical. Really, I would go on and on, but I can't, I'm all typed out, but from the bottom of my exhausted heart, thank you.

Also, not only does this day mark the end of my story, but also of my involvement with Fanfiction. The awful events of Downton, that involved our ship, completely ruined it all for me unfortunately. Yes, I'm one of those who can't find the soul to continue any more, and so I've said goodbye to Downton, and now to Fanfic. I may still keep my tumblr though, so please, if you can, keep in touch, I would hate to lose contact with any of the amazing people who had read my stories, and who's stories I have read!

Thank you and Goodbye,

_Miss Pixie Way_

xx


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